Неизвестный - 06. Honor Under Siege
“We could insist that everyone use one escalator and one bank of elevators, but I think we’d get a major logjam as a result. That kind of chaos sometimes makes it easier to overlook things.”
“I tend to agree. Plus,” Cam said with a sigh, “it rather defeats the purpose of having Blair make a public appearance if we ramp up the security measures to the point where it’s obvious we’re worried.”
“I’m not worried, Commander,” Stark said steadily. “As far as I’m concerned, every time Egret makes a public appearance, we have to assume she is a target. That’s the only way to do the job.”
After a moment of complete silence, Cam said, “You’re absolutely right, Chief.” She glanced at the others. “Perimeter coverage?”
“I get to sit this one out in the surveillance van,” Mac said, unrolling a schematic and spreading it out facing Cam. He pointed to a red X with a circle around it. “Here. The other vehicle will be at the south entrance.” He pointed to a blue X. “Here. One of Tanner’s men will drive that vehicle.”
He then opened another schematic of the ballroom. “Exits…here, here, here, and here. Also covered by Tanner’s people.”
“Are we using the local field agents?” Cam asked.
“No,” Stark said. “I decided that Tanner’s team has just as much experience, maybe more. And we’re already used to working with them.”
“Good call,” Cam murmured. She was as certain as she could be that the local Secret Service agents were not compromised, but they also weren’t as likely to fit seamlessly into their current team as Tanner’s security personnel were. Under the circumstances, she would have made the same decision.
“Savard will be with Diane,” Cam said. “We have to assume Diane is a potential target as well.” She glanced at Stark. “But Savard still has mobility issues. She’ll be fine at close range, but you’re going to need mobile backup for her.”
Stark never changed expression. “Already taken care of.”
“Did anything turn up in the doctor’s background?” Cam asked, referring to the keynote speaker. “Threats, angry protesters, anything that might spill over tonight?”
Stark nodded to Mac, who opened a file folder. “Emory Constantine. She’s thirty-one years old, has been at the Johnson Institute for five years, and received a sizable federal grant matched by the Institute two years ago. Has a bunch of recent publications and is considered one of the front runners in stem cell research in the world.”
“Young for that,” Cam observed.
“Apparently she was one of the few to see the writing on the wall before anyone else. She did a lot of the preliminary work while she was still an undergraduate. A case of good timing and, from what I’ve been able to find out, a lot of brains.”
“Personal life?”
“Not much there. Lives in Beacon Hill in the family residence with her mother, divorced, no children.”
“Threat assessment?”
Hara spoke up. “There have been right-to-life protesters at the last three seminars where Constantine has been a headliner. This guy,” she passed out photographs, “was arrested at the last one for physically threatening her as she left the podium. Alexander Frenkel. There’s a restraining order on him now. If he shows up within five hundred feet of her, he goes to jail.”
“Everyone has his picture,” Stark said. “He’s not registered at the hotel, at least not under that name.”
“These four,” Hara went on, fanning out another set of images like playing cards, “have been observed at two out of the last three locations where Constantine made a public appearance.”
Cam frowned. “Affiliations?”
“Three belong to different groups, but the fourth doesn’t appear to have any group connections at all,” Hara replied. “Two are fetal rights activists, one is a pro-lifer, and the loner is an unknown commodity.”
“Who’s providing this intelligence?” Cam asked.
“Local FBI,” Mac said. “They’ve kept a file on the doctor since another stem cell researcher—James Bennett—was attacked in a car park a year ago. The injuries kept him in the hospital for two months.”
“Did the victim have any relationship to Constantine?”
“None other than the fact that they knew each other professionally,” Mac said.
Stark said, “We anticipate the usual demonstrators tonight. We’ll bring Egret in through the side entrance, because the protesters will most likely be out front where they’ll get more press coverage. The hotel can legally bar them from entering, so once we’re inside, she’ll be in the clear from the majority of the organized dissenters.”
“What do you have on local anti-gay factions?” Cam asked.
“A few religious groups, but they’re mostly involved with debates over the church recognizing gay priests and performing same-sex marriages,” Stark answered.
“None of them with a history of violence?”
“No.”
“The press will be all over her tonight, and we’re not going to keep them out of the banquet. It’s a fundraiser, and I’m sure the PR people from the institute will want reporters present.” Cam shook her head. “It’s going to be a long night.”
“There’s one other issue, Commander,” Stark said.
Cam gave her a questioning look.
“You were targeted this week, so we have to assume you’re at risk. Wozinski will cover y—”
“No,” Cam said flatly. “I appreciate it, Chief, but don’t pull someone off Blair’s detail for me. I don’t need it.”
“With respect—”
Cam stood. “I’m officially refusing, Stark. You already have two to cover—Blair as the primary and Diane as the secondary. You don’t have the people to cover anyone else. Are we clear?”
“Yes ma’am,” Stark said tightly.
“Thank you.”
“You ready for this?” Blair asked Diane, who sat across from her in the rear of the limo. Renée Savard sat next to her and anyone who didn’t know better would think they made an amazing looking couple. Diane, slightly taller and more willowy than Renée, wore a fitted cobalt blue evening gown with a halter tie and keyhole openings in the bodice. Renée’s jacket and pants were equally elegant. It was obvious to Blair that Renée walked just slightly ahead of Diane and scanned the surroundings with every step. Blair noticed the subtle surveillance because Cam always did the same thing.
Now Diane peered through the bulletproof, one-way glass as the armored limo, courtesy of the Boston Secret Service office, slowed at the side entrance of the Ritz-Carlton. “There are fewer press here than for one of your gallery openings.” She smiled at Blair, but her eyes were sad. “I was hoping to get a chance to plug your next show.”
Blair laughed, appreciating Diane’s fortitude. She hoped that the evening would at least provide a diversion for her for a few hours. She settled her hand onto Cam’s thigh, absently running her fingertips along the seam of the silk tuxedo pants. “Most of them are probably out front, don’t you think?”
“Yes,” Cam said. “But it won’t take long for them to figure out where we are.”
“Well, then,” Blair pushed the door open as the limo stopped at the curb, “let’s make them run for it.”
With a muffled oath, Cam jumped out and surreptitiously grasped Blair’s hand. “God damn it, Blair, wait.”
Stark barreled out of the front and rushed to Blair’s opposite side. Renée and Diane moved up behind them with Hara following.
“Sorry, darling,” Blair said lightly, hooking her arm through Cam’s. “We’ve got cameras on the left and people waving signs off to the right.”
“I see them,” Cam muttered, keeping her expression neutral as Blair smiled briefly in the direction of the photographers.
When several called out questions to Blair, she waved but didn’t answer, pretending she hadn’t heard them. She pointedly ignored those calling on God or whatever other powers they believed in to punish her for her sinful ways.
“Lovely,” Diane said from close behind.
Cam reached for the hotel door and found Stark there before her.
“Go ahead please,” Stark said. “The escalators to the mezzanine are directly to your right.”
Cam hesitated for just a second, then moved through with Blair by her side.
“You’re just my date, remember?” Blair murmured.
“Sorry,” Cam muttered.
“Don’t be.”
Blair and Cam joined the crowd on the mezzanine and a moment later, a small, compact brunette in a black evening dress approached. Even in heels, she was of average height, but her dynamic expression and confident carriage made her presence seem larger.
“Ms. Powell.” She extended her hand. “I’m so honored that you could come this evening. I’m Emory Constantine.”
“Dr. Constantine,” Blair said, taking the researcher’s hand. “Thank you. My partner, Cameron Roberts, and my good friends Diane Bleeker and Renée Savard.”
“Agent Roberts, a pleasure.” Emory Constantine shook hands with Cam, then indicated the open doors to the banquet hall behind her. “Please, won’t all of you join me at my table.”
“Thank you,” Blair said. “We’d love to.”
“You should burn in hell,” a male voice shouted from across the foyer. “The Bible says you are an abomination.”
Cam instinctively stepped between Blair and the direction of the voice just as Stark did the same. Stark slid a hand under her jacket.
“Wozinski has him,” she murmured just loud enough for Cam to hear.
“Good.” Keeping between Blair and that side of the hallway, Cam took Blair’s hand and said, “We’re clear. Let’s go inside.”
Blair met Emory Constantine’s concerned gaze. “I’m sorry for the disruption.”
Emory smiled faintly. “I was about to say the same thing to you, Ms. Powell. I have a number of fairly vocal opponents.”
“Then we have quite a bit in common,” Blair said.
Emory’s gaze flickered briefly to Cam and then to Diane and Renée. Then she grinned, her dark eyes sparkling. “It seems that we do.”
Chapter Seventeen
“I’m sorry,” Emory Constantine murmured, bending over Blair, who sat at the head table with Cam, Diane, Renée, and a number of notables from the scientific and financial world, “but would you mind posing for one more round of photos? The president of the Institute—”
“No, I don’t mind,” Blair said with a smile, even though she’d been photographed with and without her permission more times than she cared to count in the last three hours. She was used to the press and had expected more than her usual share of attention after all the events of the last few months and the recent announcement of her personal plans. Emory it seemed, also garnered a fair amount of media notice, so with the two of them sitting together, the questions and photos had been nonstop all evening. “I’ll be right there.”
As she rose, Cam did also. Out of the corner of her eye, Blair saw Paula wending her way through the tables toward her. When Blair followed Emory onto the stage and joined the small group waiting there, Cam and Paula took up positions off to each side. Randolph Sumter, the current president of the Johnson Institute, was middle-aged, handsome, and wore his power with subtle arrogance. He didn’t try to hide his non-philanthropic interest as his gaze swept over Blair during their introduction.
“Ms. Powell,” he said in a smooth baritone, “we’d love to have you tour the Institute. I think you’ll find we are doing some remarkable work.”
“Yes,” Blair replied with polite reserve. “I’ve followed Dr. Constantine’s research with interest. You must be very pleased to have her and her team on board.”
To his credit, his smile never wavered. “Without a doubt. Please remember me to your father. The board was a staunch supporter during his last campaign.”
“I certainly will.” Blair took Cam’s hand. “I don’t believe you’ve met my partner, Cameron Roberts.”
Sumter acknowledged Cam perfunctorily, signaled to the photographers, and positioned himself between Blair and Emory with a hand on each of their backs. Once the obligatory photo shoot was over, Blair drew Emory aside.
“I hope you don’t mind, but I’m going to slip out a little early.”
Emory shook her head. “Please, you don’t need to explain.” She glanced at a woman who pointed a camera in their direction. “They’re hungry tonight, aren’t they?”
“Tonight?” Blair laughed. “I’m really glad we got to meet. I thought your speech was dynamite. If there’s ever anything I can do, just give me a call.”
“Thank you.” Emory walked Blair to the far side of the stage where the crowd on the floor was thinner. “I might just take you up on that someday.”
Blair smiled. “Good. I’m serious.”
“Congratulations on your upcoming wedding, too,” Emory said, waiting until Cam was close enough to hear.
“Thank you,” Cam and Blair said together.
“I’ll walk out with you,” Emory said, “and we can trade phone numbers.” She looked over the several hundred people in the banquet room and sighed. “I’ve still got another hour’s networking to go, and I could use a break.”
“Come on, then.” Blair grinned. “I’m an expert at sneaking out of things like this.”
Cam motioned to Stark. “Let the team know we’re ready to leave. I’ll get Diane and Savard. We’re still using the planned exit?”
“Yes. I’ll have the cars move around now.” Stark murmured instructions, then said to Blair, “Five minutes, Ms. Powell.”
At the appointed time, the small group took the elevator at the rear of the building to the ground floor and headed briskly down the service corridor toward an exit used by the hotel staff. Blair couldn’t see anyone in the alcoves and smaller hallways branching off the main corridor, but she was certain that members of the security team were stationed along the way. She leaned close to Emory.
“If you really want to break ranks, you can come back to the hotel with us for a drink.”
Emory laughed. “God, don’t tempt me. Unfortunately, fundraising is a necessary evil and I’ve got enough to worry about without adding money problems to my list.”
“I can imagine,” Blair said. “Don’t worry too much about anti-stem cell research legislation. I can tell you my father does not support measures to restrict your work.”
“Thank you. I—”
“Stark,” Cam said sharply as a man in a three-piece suit rounded a corner twenty feet in front of them and strode rapidly toward them. Even as she spoke, she started to step toward Blair. He raised his arm.
“Gun!” someone shouted.
Blair barely heard the warning before the hallway erupted in gunfire and she was knocked to the floor. As she fell she grabbed for Cam but could not reach her. Then she was on the floor with a tremendous weight pinning her down. She pushed and struggled to get free but was only able to turn her head. She saw a hand and part of a sleeve stretched out on the floor a few yards away. Cam’s hand. She screamed but couldn’t get enough air to emit more than a choked sob. Someone groaned.
