Radclyffe - Price of Honor

Determined to at least earn her daily wages, she stepped into the shower, smiling at the aches in places she didn’t usually ache, reminded that she hadn’t had hours of abandoned sex since she’d been a teenager. And back then, she hadn’t known what she was doing, so the aches didn’t always translate into mind-blowing sex. She knew what she was doing now, though, and so, miraculously, did Dusty. Her instincts were incredible, and her hands and mouth were even more phenomenal. How had she gotten so lucky? Honest, bold, sexy as hell, and incredible in bed. If she didn’t stop thinking about Dusty, she wasn’t going to get out of the shower or the cabin anytime soon.

Turning her face up into the spray, she reveled for another minute in just feeling wonderful. Drying and dressing quickly, she grabbed her shoulder bag, double-checked her equipment, and headed forward toward the dining car. Now that she was moving, she realized she was starving. They’d eaten a few nibbles of the picnic dinner Dusty had brought, but that seemed like a week ago. All of the physical exercise had left her ravenous. The press dining car was empty but the coffee urn was hot and full. She poured a cup and wandered forward to the main communications car in search of the White House press staffers, none of whom ever seemed to sleep. They were great sources of info, and it paid to foster their friendship. The car was empty except for Blair Powell, Lucinda Washburn, and Ian Wilcox, the presidential press secretary, sitting around a table in one corner.

“Oh,” Viv said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to barge in on a meeting.”

Ian gave her a wave. “It’s all right, we were just comparing notes on the schedule. You’re up early. Cabin fever?”

At the mention of cabin and fever, Viv immediately pictured her and Dusty naked and sweaty, unable to get enough of each other. Her face heated and she prayed no one noticed. “Not exactly, just a little restless. I’ll leave you to it, then.”

“Vivian!” Blair called. “You free for a while?”

Viv paused. “Sure. Just wandering.”

“Me too.” Blair rose. “Do you want to discuss the article now?”

“That would be great.” Viv joined her.

“This place is likely to get crowded before too long,” Blair said. “Why don’t we walk back to my car where we’ll have some privacy.”

“Of course.” Viv followed the first daughter forward, wishing she’d dressed for the workday already instead of having pulled on casual pants and a clean if somewhat wrinkled cotton shirt. Blair managed to look elegant in a tailored white-and-blue-striped boyfriend shirt worn loose over slim-cut jeans and plain dark loafers. “I really appreciate this. It’s these kinds of personal touches that readers really relate to, and of course, they’re fascinated with you and anything you have to say.”

“That is truly frightening,” Blair said with a rueful smile.

“I imagine that it is a bit of a burden.”

“Most people think that it’s glamorous.”

Viv shook her head. “I suppose sometimes it must be. I kind of feel that way about being in the press corps. The places we go, the dignitaries we meet, the history we witness. But it’s a bit of a fishbowl too, isn’t it? And for you, so much worse.”

“It has its good and bad moments.” Blair nodded to an agent standing post by the door to one of the private cars. She opened the door and led Viv into an expansive lounge with furnishings far more plush and elegant than what she’d seen previously in the rest of the train.

“Ms. Powell,” Viv said, suddenly realizing that the first daughter was probably very aware she was speaking to a reporter, and Viv hadn’t been thinking like one. Blair was far more approachable than she’d expected of someone in her position, and Viv had been speaking her mind as casually as she might to a new friend. “None of this is on the record, just so you know.”

“I appreciate that.” Blair smiled and gestured to a seating area with side tables next to upholstered chairs. “We’ve got some breakfast staples, if you’re hungry.”

“Coffee is good for now.”

“Sit anywhere. I’ll grab us coffee.”

Blair handed Viv a cup of coffee and sat down across from her.

“Thanks.” Viv took out her recorder and tablet. “If it’s all right with you, I thought we’d just chat a little bit. I’ll tell you about the article, and what I’ve seen so far. Anything you might want to add from a personal perspective would be terrific. If you’d like, you can read the transcript of our discussion, and I’ll be happy to redact anything you don’t want included.”

“You haven’t been on the White House beat very long, have you?” Blair asked.

“No, but I’ve been a reporter for quite a long time.”

“An unusual one. It usually takes reporters a long time to discover they’ll learn a lot more if they start a conversation rather than an inquisition.”

Viv laughed, understanding exactly why the country loved the first daughter. She was beautiful and charming and perceptive. “I totally agree. Let’s talk.”

*

Jane built a tripod out of rocks and packed ice and snow around the base for extra stability. She set up her rifle and sighted on the tracks. The rails jumped into view within the circle of the scope. Mid-distance shot. No challenge.

She pulled out the battery packs she’d kept warm inside her jacket, close to her body, and inserted them into the drones. The electronics came to life at the push of a button. The remotes checked out. Her cell phone was edging into the low power zone—probably dying from the cold—but the burn phone battery was full. Fifteen minutes and the train should be within range. Visibility had improved over the past hour as the sky lightened and the blowing snow relented. Her window of opportunity would be short, but she didn’t need long. She didn’t believe in fate, but like all soldiers, she was superstitious. So far that morning, luck had been on her side. Her father would disagree, she knew, and point out her success, or failure, was due to planning or lack of it. That was one of the differences between them. Jenn had planned the bio-attack for years, had sacrificed her personal life to work her way inside the White House, and in the end, she’d fallen victim to someone else’s shoddy performance.

Jane set aside thoughts of Jenn and her father and focused on the terrain below. This was her op, and hers alone. She’d selected a blind 500 yards up the snowy escarpment from the tracks and dug in beneath a rocky overhang where she’d be invisible from the air. A pair of helicopters had flown over forty-five minutes before, the advance security teams checking the train tracks to be sure there was no obstruction. They would’ve been watching the roads for suspicious vehicles parked along the train route or shadowing the train’s progress too, but Hooker should be long gone by now. Her thermal winter BDUs and the small snow cave she’d scooped out beneath the overhang helped conserve her body heat. She wasn’t cold. Her blood raced too hot and fast for her to be cold or nervous.

A distant rumble traveled through the shallow valley and her pulse jumped for an instant before she settled into battle mode. Calm settled over her, her heart rate slowed, her vision cleared, and her mind went crystal sharp. The train was coming. Now timing was everything. Like always, the battle came down to a matter of minutes, minutes in which she would win or fail, live or die. She scanned the length of the track with the long-range binoculars and saw the first glimmer of flashing steel in the gray distance. Judging the intercept, she released the first drone. As it flew, she punched in the number she had programmed into the burn phone.