First Family kam-4 Page 5

  While Daryl was thickset the man behind him was tall and reedy. His Adam's apple bobbed up and down in his terror. "We didn't mean to do it, Mr. Quarry. But after we got the kid knocked out she came in and started screaming and fighting. Hell, look at Daryl's face, she damn near scratched it off. It was just self-defense. We were trying to knock her out too and get her with the syringe, but the lady just went nuts."

  "What'd you expect a momma to do when you're taking her baby? We went over that scenario a hundred times and what you were supposed to do in every damn situation. Killing was not an option. Now I got a little girl who's never gonna see her momma again and it never should've happened."

  Daryl's voice was pleading. "But the daddy was home. And he wasn't supposed to be."

  "Don't matter. Planned for that too."

  Daryl was not giving up. "She scratched me up good, dug a finger in my eye. I got real pissed. Lost my head. I just swung with the knife. Caught her right in the neck. I didn't mean for it to happen. She just died. We tried to save her. Nothing we could do. I'm sorry."

  "You already told me all this. And if that had made a difference you wouldn't be standing here right now and neither would I."

  Daryl nervously eyed the Patriot. "We always been there for you. You know that. And we got the little girl for you. Not a bruise on her."

  "One exception breaks the rule. When you agreed to help me do this, I told you there weren't many rules, but you broke the most important one. You swore me an oath and I accepted that oath. Now here we are."

  He nodded at Carlos, who reluctantly gripped the men by their wrists and pulled them down to their knees.

  Quarry stood over them. "Speak to your God, men, if you got one. I'll give you time to do that."

  Daryl started mumbling what sounded like the fragments of a prayer. The thin man just started to cry.

  Sixty seconds later Quarry said, "Done? Okay."

  He placed the Patriot against the base of Daryl's skull.

  "Oh, Jesus. Sweet Jesus," wailed Daryl.

  "Please," screamed the other man.

  Quarry's finger slipped from the metal guard onto the trigger. Yet he ended up pulling away the Patriot. He didn't exactly know why, he just did.

  "Get up!"

  Daryl looked at him in astonishment. "What?"

  "I said get up."

  Daryl stood on shaky legs. Quarry stared at the man's scratched-up face and the blood red right eye, then he ripped open the front of Daryl's shirt. A large purplish bruise was revealed between the man's muscled pecs.

  "You say it was a woman who shot you?"

  "Yes sir. It was dark, but I could still see it was a girl."

  "That girl was a damn good shot. By all rights you ought to be dead anyway, boy."

  "Wore the armor like you told us," Daryl gasped. "I'm sorry she got killed. I didn't mean for it to happen. I'm sorry."

  "And you say you think you left a vial behind?"

  "Just the one. It was all rushed like after what happened, especially when the other folks showed up. We counted the vials up on the way back. But they gonna know we took the woman's blood anyway, when they cut her open and stuff."

  Quarry looked uncertain for a moment. "Get the hell on, then."

  "What?"

  Quarry nodded at a relieved Carlos, who quickly unshackled Daryl. The man rubbed his raw wrists and looked at the thin man still on his knees. "What about Kurt?"

  Quarry shoved the muzzle against Daryl's chest. "No more talking. Now get on before I change my mind. Kurt's not your concern."

  Daryl staggered off, fell, picked himself back up, and stumbled onward into the dark.

  Quarry turned back to Kurt.

  "Please, Mr. Quarry," the condemned man mumbled.

  "I'm sorry about this, Kurt. But what we got here is an eye for an eye, boy."

  "But Daryl's the one what killed the lady, sir."

  "He's also my son. I don't have much, but I got him."

  He pointed the pistol at Kurt's head.

  "But you're like a daddy to me, Mr. Quarry," said Kurt, the tears lapping down his cheeks.

  "That's what makes this so damn hard."

  "This is crazy, Mr. Quarry. You crazy," he screamed.

  "Damn right I'm crazy, boy!" Quarry shouted right back. "Crazy as a mad hatter on crack. It's in my blood. No way to shake it."

  Kurt threw himself sideways and tried to wriggle away, his clunky boots throwing up little clouds of coal dust. His screams swept down the shaft, like the Union soldiers before.

  "Hold the damn light closer, Carlos," ordered Quarry. "I don't want him to suffer one second more than he's got to."

  The Patriot barked and Kurt stopped trying to get away.

  Quarry let the gun drop and swing next to his side. He mumbled something incomprehensible while Carlos crossed himself.

  "You know how pissed off I am about this?" said Quarry. "You understand my level of rage and disappointment?"

  "Yes, sir," said Carlos.

  Quarry nudged dead Kyle with his boot, stuck the heated Patriot in his waistband.

  He turned and marched on down the shaft. To daylight.

  He was tired of the dark.

  He just wanted to fly.

  CHAPTER 10

  MICHELLE LEFT HER PISTOL in her locked safe box in the SUV. She had no desire to sit in a federal prison for the next several years contemplating the error of her ways for trying to waltz into the White House with a loaded weapon.

  They had lost the reporters hanging outside their office, although the effort had cost some rubber off Michelle's truck tires and one of the journalist's cars had banged into a parked van during the abbreviated chase. She had not stopped to assist.

  They passed through the visitor's entrance. They expected to be led into the White House but were surprised when after they'd been wanded and searched one of the agents stationed there said, "Come on."

  They were hustled into a Town Car waiting outside the entrance. It sped off as soon as the door closed.

  Sean said to the driver, "Where the hell are we going?"

  The man didn't answer. The guy next to him didn't even turn around.

  Michelle whispered, "SS doesn't look too happy right now."

  "Blame game's started," Sean whispered back. "And they might know why the First Lady has asked us here. And they probably don't like outsiders snooping around."

  "But we used to be one of them."

  He shrugged. "I didn't exactly leave on the best terms. And neither did you."

  "So the FBI hates us and so do our own guys. You know, what we need is a union."

  "No, what we need is to know where we're going." He was about to ask the question again when the car slowed and stopped.

  "Out here, in the church," the driver said.

  "What?"

  "Get your ass in the church. The lady's waiting."

  As soon as they stepped out of the car they realized their trip had been very short. They were on the other side of Lafayette Park from the White House. The church was St. John's. The door was open. They walked inside as the Town Car drove off.

  She was seated in the front pew. Sean and Michelle sensed rather than saw the presence of the security detail around the room. When Sean sat next to Jane Cox, he couldn't tell whether she had been crying or not. He suspected she had, but he also knew she was not the sort of woman who showed her emotions easily. Perhaps not even to her husband. He had seen the woman become emotional before, but only once. He had never expected to witness another such episode.

  Under her black overcoat she wore a knee-length blue dress, along with sensible pumps and little jewelry. Her hair, though covered in a scarf, was in its trademark upsweep that many had compared, mostly favorably, to Jackie Kennedy. The woman had never been flash, Sean knew, just classy. Elegant. She never tried to be something she wasn't. Well, that wasn't exactly true, he concluded. A First Lady had to be many things to many people, and there was no way any single personality could
accommodate so many different requests. So some role-playing was inevitable.

  "This is Michelle Maxwell, Mrs… Jane."

  Jane smiled graciously at Michelle and then turned back to Sean. "Thank you for agreeing to meet with me so quickly."

  "We thought it was going to take place at the White House."

  "I thought so too, but then reconsidered. The church is a little more private. And… peaceful."

  He leaned back in the pew and studied the altar for a moment before saying, "What can we do for you?"

  "You really were there when it happened?"

  "Yes. I was bringing a present for Willa." He went on to fill in the details of the night's events, withholding the more graphic elements.

  "Tuck doesn't remember much," she said. "They said he'll be fine, no internal bleeding or anything, but his short-term memory appears to be impaired."

  "That often happens with blows to the head," Michelle remarked. "But it might come back."

  "The Secret Service is undertaking protection of the… extended First Family now," she said.

  "Smart move," said Sean.

  "The Achilles' heel finally exposed," noted Jane quietly.

  Sean said, "The FBI is investigating. I'm not sure there's anything we can do that they can't."

  "I threw a birthday party for Willa at Camp David. Pam was there, Willa's friends, her brother and sister. It was a very special day for a very special girl."

  "She is special," Sean agreed.

  "To think that on the same day of that wonderful celebration this… this horror would have happened." She suddenly stared at Sean. "I want you to find Willa. And the people responsible for this."

  He swallowed nervously. "It's a federal investigation. We can't get in the middle of that. They'll eat us for lunch."

  "You helped me once, Sean, and I've never forgotten that. I know I have no right to ask, but I desperately need your help again."

  "But the FBI?"

  She waved a dismissive hand. "I'm sure they're very good. But it goes without saying that because of Willa's relationship to me this will very quickly become a political punching bag."

  "How could anyone make the murder of a mother and the kidnapping of her child political?" Michelle asked.

  Jane gave her a smile that came awfully close to condescending. "We're in the middle of a reelection campaign. This town specializes in making the apolitical political, Michelle. There are no limits to the depths to which some people will go."

  "And you think that might influence the FBI's investigation?" Sean said.

  "I don't want to take the chance that the answer to that question is yes. I want people with only one agenda. Finding out the truth. Without smears. Without spin. Which means I want you."

  "Do you have any idea why someone would have done this, Mrs. Cox?" asked Michelle.

  "I can't think of anyone."

  Sean suggested, "How about the usual suspects? A terrorist group? The First Family is too well protected so they go against a softer target."

  "If so, we should hear some group taking responsibility then, or a demand of some kind," added Michelle.

  "We might soon. What does the president think?" asked Sean.

  "He's as worried and concerned as I am."

  "I meant does he have any idea who might have done this?"

  "I don't believe so, no."

  Sean added in a delicate tone, "Does he know you're meeting with us?"

  "I see no reason for him to know, at least not right now."

  "With all due respect, your Secret Service detail knows, ma'am," said Michelle.

  "I believe I can rely on them to be discreet."

  Michelle and Sean exchanged a nervous glance. There wasn't a Secret Service agent alive who would intentionally hide anything from the president. That would be career suicide, discretion notwithstanding.

  "Okay," said Sean. "But if we're going to look into this thing, our involvement may come out at some point."

  Michelle interjected, "If it does we can claim we're just doing it because Sean is a friend of the family and was actually there when it happened. In fact they tried to kill me. So maybe we hang our hat on that."

  Sean nodded and glanced at Jane. "We can play it that way, certainly."

  "Good."

  "We'll need to talk to Tuck and John and Colleen."

  "I can arrange that. Tuck is still in the hospital. The children are staying at Pam's sister's house in Bethesda."

  "And we'll need access to the crime scene."

  Michelle added, "The FBI will have all the forensics evidence. We'll need to see that too if we're really going to get anywhere."

  "I'll see what I can do. After all, this is my family."

  "Okay," Sean said slowly, watching her closely.

  "So you'll do it?" She laid her hand over the top of Sean's.

  He looked at Michelle, who gave a quick nod. "We'll do it."

  CHAPTER 11

  THEY LEFT THE CHURCH. The Town Car was not waiting for them.

  "I guess we didn't pay for a round trip," muttered Michelle.

  They were starting to walk across Lafayette Park when Sean said, "Hold on to your organs. Here they come."

  The two men were marching with a shared purpose. One was Sour Face, the FBI agent. The other one Sean knew well, as did Michelle. He was Secret Service, higher-up Secret Service named Aaron Betack. The man's distinguished career at the Service had swiftly propelled him from the trenches to the power tower, and Sean noted he had quite the spring in his step right now.

  They blocked Sean and Michelle's way.

  Sean feigned surprise. "Hey, you guys out for a stroll too? Great minds and all."

  Sour Face said, "We know where you've been and who you just talked to and we're here to put the kibosh on it right now. The last thing we need are two cowboys-" He paused and leered at Michelle. "Excuse me, and cowgirl screwing this up."

  "I never did get your name," said Sean pleasantly.

  "FBI Special Agent Chuck Waters, WFO."

  "That's good to know," put in Michelle. "Because I've just been referring to you as dickhead."

  "Maxwell," snapped Betack. "You show some damn respect."

  "Show me something I should respect and I will," she shot back.

  Waters inched closer to her and waggled a finger an inch from her nose. "You just back the hell off, little lady."

  Since Michelle was nearly four inches taller than Waters, she said, "If I'm a little lady that must mean you're a dwarf."

  "And just so you know, Chuck, this little lady here can kick all of our asses without breaking a sweat, so back off," said Sean.

  Betack, who was the same size as the six-foot-two King with even broader shoulders, cleared his throat and gave his FBI colleague a cautious look and then a shake of the head. Waters's face flamed red but he did take a noticeable step back.

  Betack said, "Sean, you and Maxwell are not investigating this case. Period."

  "Last time I looked at my pay stub it didn't mention Uncle Sam."

  "Nevertheless-"

  "There's no nevertheless. We met with a prospective client. We have agreed to represent said client. This is America. They allow that sort of thing here. Now, we have a case to get working on."

  "You're really going to regret this, King," barked Waters.

  "I've regretted a lot of things in my life. And yet here I am."

  He pushed past them and Michelle followed. She made sure to let her elbow impact with Waters's shoulder.

  When they got back to Michelle's SUV she said, "I was really proud of you back there."

  "Don't be. We just made enemies of two of the most powerful agencies in the world."

  "Go big or go home."

  "I'm serious, Michelle."

  She put the SUV in gear. "So that just means we have to solve this thing fast."

  "You really think that's even remotely possible?"

  "We've cracked tough stuff before."

  "Yeah, and
none of it happened fast."

  "Allow me to be cautiously pessimistic. Where to first? Tuck?"

  "No, the kids."

  As they drove along she said, "And what did you think of Jane Cox's story?"

  "It seemed pretty straightforward."

  "Oh, you think so?"

  "And you didn't?"

  "You never did tell me how you know the lady."

  "How does anyone really know anyone else?"

  "Cut the existential crap. I want to know how you know her."

  "Why does that matter?"

  "It matters because if your judgment is clouded-"

  "Who the hell says my judgment is clouded?"

  "Come on, I saw how she put her hand on top of yours. Did you two have an affair or something?"

  "You think I was banging the president of the United States' wife? Give me a freaking break!"

  "Maybe she wasn't the First Lady when you knew her," Michelle said calmly. "But I don't know that because you refuse to tell me, your partner, anything about it. Talk about a one-way street. I've bared my guts to you, I expect a little reciprocity."

  "Okay, okay." He fell silent and looked out the window.

  "Okay, what?"

  "I did not have an affair with Jane Cox."

  "Did you want to?"

  He shot her a glance. "What do you care?"

  Michelle, who'd been grinning at him, now looked flustered. "I, I don't care who you lust after. That's your business."

  "That's good to know, because I'm really into lust privacy."

  There was an awkward silence as they drove along.

  Michelle was racking her brains for some other line of questioning and gratefully pounced on it. "But you were gone from the Service long before her husband ran for the Oval Office."

  "He was also a U.S. senator before that."

  "But what's the connection with the Service? Or did it not have anything to do with that?"

  "It did. And it didn't."

  "Great, thanks for clearing that up."

  He remained silent.

  "Sean, come on!" She slapped the steering wheel in frustration.

  "This can go no further, Michelle."

  "Yeah, I'm a real blabbermouth."

  "I've never told anyone this. No one."