Radclyffe - Oath of Honor
Agents rose and started to leave the room, the midnight shift
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heading home and the rest to their posts. Evyn grabbed her black trench
coat and coffee.
“Evyn,” Tom Turner said. “Hang on a minute, will you.”
“Sure.” Evyn dropped her coat onto a chair and tossed the empty
paper cup into a nearby wastebasket. Gary hesitated, glanced at Tom,
and followed the rest out, muttering, “Catch you later,” as he left.
When the room was empty, Tom closed the door and gestured for
her to sit.
Her antennae went up. She couldn’t think of anything she’d done
that could be problematic. She wasn’t the most senior member of PPD,
but over the last year she’d sort of become Tom’s unofficial sounding
board. She’d sat in the right front seat of the follow-up car a time
or two, and had taken the lead when POTUS traveled. That level of
responsibility told her she was doing okay, or at least she thought she
had been. She waited for Tom to start, banishing a mild case of nerves,
a wholly atypical reaction for her.
“Are you set to bring Masters up to speed?” Tom sat across from
her and leaned back in his chair.
“She’s still clearing security but should be done sometime today.
I’ll meet with her later and set up a schedule.” Evyn’s pulse jittered at
the mention of Wes’s name, also unusual. She rarely showed a bump in
her blood pressure or her pulse, even during simulated actions. She’d
been preparing for this job since she was a kid, and she’d taught herself
not to react when something hurt, or scared her, or excited her. She kept
her cool. She wanted to be ice in an emergency. She usually was. But
just a reference to Wes Masters had her composure melting around the
edges. That couldn’t be good. She needed to clamp a lid on that.
“I had a call from Averill Jensen before the briefing this morning,”
Tom said.
Evyn tensed at the mention of the president’s security adviser.
The USSS answered only to the Director of Homeland Security—on
paper—but Jensen had sweeping authority in security matters. “About
We—Captain Masters?”
“Indirectly.”
Evyn couldn’t believe there was an issue with Wes Masters. She’d
only just met Wes, but she’d spent time with her, more personal time
than she’d spent with anyone in years, except the agents who’d just left
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this room. And they hadn’t just talked about business. They’d talked
about life. Wes was solid. She was dedicated and focused, all the way
through. Evyn clamped her molars together and kept her mouth shut.
She needed to listen, and to do her job. Right now, the best thing she
could do for Wes Masters was find out what the hell was going on.
“They went outside to bring her in,” Tom said, “and on the face of
it, that’s not that unusual. What’s unusual is that with O’Shaughnessy’s
sudden death, they didn’t move someone up from inside as interim
director while they put the nominees through the selection process.”
“I know.” Just a few hours with Wes had blunted some of Evyn’s
anger that Peter had been passed over, but she still didn’t think it was
right. Wes wasn’t at fault for that, at least not as far as she knew. “Did
somebody pull strings to get her appointed? Pressure someone? Is that
it?” “No.” Tom’s smooth brow wrinkled, which for him was akin to
shouting. He was the epitome of control. He just didn’t get rattled,
especially if he was angry or frustrated. Something serious was going
on if Tom was unsettled. “Masters was brought in because she’s a
qualified outsider. There seems to be some concern that we have a leak
inside.”
“A leak?” Evyn took a second to let that sink in. “You mean
someone in the House is passing information?”
“Communications analysts have been pulling snippets from
surveillance tapes—routine Internet sweeps—that suggest potentially
hostile groups might know plans we haven’t made public.”
“Jesus,” Evyn said. “And they think it’s in the medical unit?”
“They don’t know—could be anywhere—the medical unit, the
West Wing, our group—”
“Us? Oh, come on, that’s just not possible. At the very least,
someone is talking who shouldn’t be because they’re damn idiots—
which excludes all of us. Worst-case scenario, someone is working with
domestic or foreign hostiles. And that sure as hell isn’t one of us.”
Tom stared at her. “You believe it and I believe it, but that doesn’t
mean everyone else does. Let’s not forget Robert Hanssen. He went
undetected for decades.”
“We’re not the FBI,” Evyn said dismissively. You believe it and I
believe it… “Wait a minute. You’re not saying that Wes—Dr. Masters
is looking at us?” Was that what prompted the dinner invitation and the
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prolonged after-dinner conversation? She remembered every word that
had passed between them, and she couldn’t remember Wes bringing
up anything probative. All the same, the invitation had come out of
nowhere. Her heart plummeted. “Hell.”
“I doubt that—not her job description. All the same, we can’t really
be sure what we haven’t been told.” He grimaced, clearly not happy.
“Given the threat level, Masters has to be aware of the situation.”
“Well, we better be sure she’s ready to carry the ball,” Evyn said.
“That’s your job. In the meantime, we need to button down
everything on our end. I want you to watch communications carefully.
Make sure our analysts are looking for anything, no matter how small,
that gets picked up from sources under surveillance.”
She nodded sharply. “You got it.”
“She’s due for a polygraph. Pick her up and take her over. Sit in
on it.”“I’m not certified—”
“I know—Preston will run it. You can play backup.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And for now, all of this is just between us.”
“Yes, sir,” Evyn said softly. She didn’t want to believe that anyone
inside the White House could be compromising the president by
inadvertently mishandling information. But to do it willfully? To her,
there was no greater sin. Wes couldn’t think her capable of that, could
she?
v
Wes left Lucinda’s office and walked out into the waiting area.
Evyn Daniels stood with a stone-faced man in a dark suit who regarded
her with unsmiling eyes. Wes looked at Evyn. “Good morning, Agent
Daniels.”
“Captain,” Evyn said politely, nothing but professional friendliness
in her eyes. “This is Agent Preston.”
Wes quickly squelched a wave of disappointment at the formal
tone. Business as usual. Last night was a thing of the past, and after
what Lucinda had just told her, business as usual was all there could be
for her with anyone on the job. She wasn’t here to make friends. She
nodded to Preston. “You’ll be doing the testing?”
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“That’s right,” Preston said. “If you come this way, we’ll tell you
about it once we get settled.”
Wes followed them down the hall and into a small room with
several windows that looked out over another expanse of lawn studded
with rose bushes. The room was crowded with a conference table, eight
chairs, and a row of bookshelves underneath the window. A file cabinet
stood in one corner and a polygraph machine rested in the center of
the table. She sat down across from it. Evyn and Preston sat facing the
machine.
“The way this works,” Preston said, “is that the test is given in two
parts—part one will cover some basic informational questions. Then
we’ll move on to part two with more focused questions. Have you ever
had a polygraph?”
“No.”
“Is there anything you want us to know now before we start the
test?”“I assume you’re referring to anything which I feel would
disqualify me for this position?”
Preston answered before Evyn. “We find it’s best not to try
to outthink or rationalize whether or not there is a right or wrong
answer.”
Evyn added, “Just answer each question to the best of your ability.
If there’s something in the past you think may hamper or confuse your
answers, you should tell us. That will actually help us interpret the test
to your benefit.”
“There isn’t.” Wes hadn’t expected to see Evyn until later, and
this wasn’t the way she had hoped their next encounter would come
about, but Evyn was here to do her job and so was she. In a way, she
was relieved. There could be no ambiguity about what was happening
between them. Nothing. Only business.
“All right,” Preston said. “We’re going to go through some basic
questions first.”
Wes knew the basics of the polygraph. She understood that
some questions were designed to elicit a yes-or-no answer, and those
responses formed the baseline comparators for other answers. She also
knew it was best not to try to figure out which questions were the critical
comparators. “I’m ready.”
Preston made some notes while Evyn connected the galvanic
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skin recorder to Wes’s right arm. Wes was aware of sweating slightly.
Unusual for her. Even under the tensest conditions, she rarely perspired.
She wasn’t concerned about the test, but she couldn’t shake the lingering
connection she felt to Evyn Daniels, and the disorienting effect of her
presence.
“All right, Dr. Masters,” Preston said, making a mark on a
scrolling roll of paper. “We’re going to begin. Is your name Captain
Wesley Masters?”
“Yes.”
Preston alternated asking her routine questions—her term of
service, her duty stations, her field experience—interspersed with
pointed questions.
“Have you ever been arrested?”
“No.”
“Have you ever used illegal drugs, recreationally or in conjunction
with an assignment?”
“No.”
“Have you ever met with foreign nationals hostile to the U.S.?”
“No.”
“Have you ever met with known terrorists?”
“No.”
“The Ku Klux Klan, the American Nazi Party, the American
Christian Army?”
“No. No. No.”
She answered no so many times she began to feel as if she was
revealing she had no life outside her job. But then, she didn’t.
Finally, Preston turned off the machine and Evyn sat back. She
gave Wes the slightest smile, and for some reason, Wes’s uneasiness
disappeared.
“We’ll let you know the results as soon as they’ve been analyzed,”
Preston said.
Wes rolled her shoulders and stretched her neck. “Good, thank
you. I wonder if you could tell me how to get to the medical offices
from here.”
“I’ll take you,” Evyn said.
“And someplace to eat?”
Evyn glanced at her watch. “It’s almost sixteen hundred. I’ll show
you a good place to get a late lunch.”
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“I don’t have much time,” Wes said, not wanting a repeat of the
intimacy of the night before. She needed a buffer between them if the
disappointment she’d experienced earlier was any indication of how
strongly Evyn affected her.
“I’m sure your team can wait another forty-five minutes. POTUS
isn’t scheduled to leave the House today. Whatever activity there is in
the clinic is already being handled by your staff. Lunch first. Then I’ll
take you over to meet your staff.”
“Thank you,” Wes said, realizing when she had been given an
order in the form of a suggestion. She’d have to get used to that, since
Evyn was in charge. And since part of Lucinda Washburn’s unspoken
message had been to assess those on the list, she’d best get on with her
job. “Lunch it is.”
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chapter nine
Cam leaned against the doorway to Blair’s studio in the house
they’d purchased not far from Tanner and Adrienne’s on
Whitley Point. In the middle of winter this far north, sunset came
early, and the late-day sun slanted low on the horizon. Diffuse golden
light cast a halo around Blair’s face as she concentrated on the canvas
propped up on the easel in front of her. Her paint-spattered jeans rode
low on her hips, and her faded black T-shirt with a silk-screened Andy
Warhol slid up and down over the hollow of her spine as she captured
the colors of the sea in gray, and green, and blue. A strip of skin two
inches wide just above the waistband of her Luckys winked into
view and disappeared to the rhythm of her brushstrokes in a hypnotic
cadence that captured Cam’s attention and made her throat go dry.
She knew that spot—the sweet softness of the skin, the delicate ripple
of bone beneath supple muscle, the breathy moans when her fingers
dipped and stroked. She’d rested her hand in just that spot while they’d
danced at their wedding.
She smiled. They hadn’t really celebrated privately yet. By the
time they’d said good-bye to the last of their guests, thanked Tanner
and Adrienne for opening their home and putting up with the weeks of
heightened security, and made it back to their place down island, they’d
fallen into bed exhausted. After sleeping far later than usual, they’d
both needed to unwind. Blair wanted to paint. Cam needed to move.
Now she wanted nothing more than to be right where she was, looking
at her wife.
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“Have a good run?” Blair asked, touching a dab of purple to the
swell of a wave.
“The beach is a bitch. I’d forgotten how much harder it is to run
