Chapter twenty-six

0600 05Sep01

Report: Strike Team Four. Departure confirmed: United Airlines Flight 93 from Newark. Destination: San Francisco. Target: Washington, DC. Tickets purchased at Baltimore/ Washington International Airport, cash transaction.

0700 06Sep01

Alone in an austere office in his rustic mountain compound, General Matheson logged on to the Internet and brought up a site featuring classic cars. He scrolled through the menus to a page displaying a '57 Mercury Cruiser and moved his cursor over the image until he found an html link, which he clicked to open.

Final communique. Four teams assembled and dispatched: East Coast targets 1-4 only. Teams five and six currently deactivated. Date confirmed: 0900 HSept2001. Glory to the righteous.

Matheson grunted and shrugged away a flicker of apprehension. There was no turning back now, even had he wanted to. These men were zealots and would not be deterred. They would strike, and he and his compatriots would take advantage of the shock and chaos to make their own voices heard. There had never been a better time for the Patriot mission than the present. With certain determination he reached for his cell phone and punched in a familiar number. The call was answered at once.

"Hello, Agent," Matheson said quietly. "You are green-lighted. Your team will assemble tomorrow."

"Operation confirmed?"

"0900.9-11."

"Very well." A few seconds of silence ensued. "I will assume command of the strike team. It's best if we terminate further communications.'"

Matheson hesitated, considering his options and the likelihood of repercussions if any part of the mission failed. It was imperative that he protect his organization to ensure the future of the freedom movement. "Agreed. Good luck and Godspeed."

0515 7 September 2001

Cam jerked fully awake at the first ring of the phone. She pulled her cell off the bedside table and sat up, opening the phone with one hand and flipping the covers back with the other. Her feet touched the floor and she stood, saying succinctly, "Roberts."

A second later, she sat back down on the edge of the bed. "No problem, Tom. What can I do for you?... Jesus, you're kidding...No, I understand...What do you want from my end?"

Listening intently, she made a mental list of things she needed to do. "Right. I'll take care of it." She laughed. "No, they certainly don't make it easy."

Terminating the call, she checked the clock. She had enough time to get in a run before the morning briefing. She was tired; she never slept well when she didn't sleep with Blair. And Blair had a busy weekend coming up, which meant more work for the team and more worry for her. She thought about the surprise call she'd just received from Washington and shook her head. More complications she didn't need.

"Christ. What a job."

0700 7 September 2001

"Good morning, everyone," Cam said briskly as she walked to the head of the table. "The itinerary for the weekend remains unchanged. Tonight at 2000 hours, Egret has the private opening at the Bleeker Gallery. Tomorrow evening at 2100 hours, the general showing. There will, however, be a change in the shift assignments for this evening. Please see Mac at 0900 hours for further details."

Mac straightened nearly imperceptibly, but his expression remained neutral. He hadn't been advised of any changes.

"In addition to the personal guest list, Egret has agreed to Ms. Bleeker's request that a small number of art dealers also attend the pre-show this evening." It wasn't unusual for dealers who represented wealthy clients or large consortiums to be allowed to preview the works before the gallery opened a show for general viewing. She looked at Mac. "Do you have those background checks completed?"

"I ran those," Cynthia Parker responded. She passed out information packets to each agent. "Bios and photos. Nothing tipped a flag."

"Good," Cam replied, flipping the folder open. She'd seen the list of names and had recognized two whom she'd met at her mother's shows over the years. "Just make certain you are all familiar with the—" she paused, staring at one image, "uh...the photographs of the dealers." Jesus Christ. The name below the photo read Valerie Ross. Carefully, she pressed her fingertips to the desktop to still the faint trembling. "Everyone else on the guest list should already be familiar to you."

Cam completed the rest of the briefing on autopilot and, when she'd finished, said quietly to Mac, "Wait a minute, will you, Mac?"

"Certainly, Commander."

Once they were alone, Cam pulled out the chair at the head of the table and settled into it, working not to allow her weariness to show. "I need you to rearrange the shift assignments for this evening. We need the entire team deployed."

"The whole team, Commander?"

"Yes." She rubbed at the headache beginning to form between her eyes. "Bring up the schematics of the area for a two-block radius, would you."

Without another word, Mac plugged a video cable into his laptop and clicked an icon on the desktop. A detailed street map appeared on the wall screen at the opposite end of the conference room. Cam got up and walked to it, pulling a slim laser pointer from her inside breast pocket. "Call Captain Landers and inform her that we'll need vehicular and foot patrols here, here, and...here."

"Got it," he replied, although he didn't actually understand the order at all. Captain Stacy Landers was the NYPD security liaison with Egret's team, but local law enforcement was usually only deployed for large-scale public outings.

"Now let me see the gallery building, street level."

A second passed, and then a blueprint of the building that housed the Bleeker Gallery appeared. Front, rear, and side entrances were denoted by red semicircles with the distance in feet to the nearest street or alleyway marked in bright yellow numerals. On the interior of the structure, the rooms and hallways, as well as the heating ducts and gas, water, and electrical conduits, were all marked in distinguishing colors. "Put two people each here, here, and here," Cam instructed, again pinpointing the areas with the tiny bright red laser dot.

"That will leave us thin on Egret herself," Mac noted neutrally.

"Thinner than I'd like," Cam agreed. "Put Stark inside the gallery with me. You take the main entrance. That should be fine."

"Commander? Is there a problem I should be aware of regarding tonight's itinerary?"

"No, Mac. No problem." At least I hope not—and nothing that I can tell you about now.

Mac nodded, keeping his questions to himself. He trusted her implicitly, and even if he hadn't, he would have followed orders. Still, at times like this, it helped immeasurably that she had the total confidence of every one of her agents. "I'll see to it."

"Thank you." Cam breathed in slowly and let the air out on a sigh. Then she walked back to the head of the table. "There's one more thing."

Her second in command regarded her steadily.

"One of the art dealers," Cam said as she reached for the file Cynthia Parker had prepared, "Valerie Ross. I need everything there is on her, and I need it this morning."

"The background check is in there, Commander." Mac regarded Cam quizzically. "It's extensive."

Familiar with the standard checks, Cam nodded. "I want a deep-level check."

"Finances, database scans, photo runs?"

"Yes," Cam said quietly, opening the file and sliding it across the table to Mac. "Everything."

Mac looked down at the file. "Jesus," he said with uncharacteristic lack of restraint. "What's going on?"

"I don't know." Cam stared at the photo. "But we have to find out."

"Hi," Blair said, smiling, as she opened the door to her lover.

Cam smiled back, but her eyes were solemn, "You're all ready," she remarked, taking in the gym bag by the door and Blair's outfit, which consisted of a T-shirt, sweatpants, and gym shoes.

"And you're not. Aren't you coming?" Blair kept her tone light, but inwardly she was already preparing herself for disappointment. Cam was her lover, but this weekend, she was much more her security chief. After more than a decade of living with close security, Blair knew how much planning needed to be done in preparation for a public event like the gathering that evening. And she knew that Cam would oversee every detail personally.

"I'm definitely coming," Cam said reassuringly. "I left my gear downstairs in the locker room. But something's come up that I need to talk to you about first."

"All right." Blair took Cam's hand and led her to the breakfast bar. She eased a hip up onto one of the tall stools and waited for Cam to take a seat facing her. "What's going on, darling?"

"I'm not even sure I should be bringing this up now—hell, or at all." Cam shook her head, disgusted at her own indecisiveness. "I've just spent the last forty minutes trying to make up my mind. Then it finally occurred to me that if I didn't discuss it with you, you might be pissed."

"Cameron," Blair said firmly. "Just tell me."

"One of the art dealers who Diane invited to the pre-opening show tonight is Claire."

"Claire." Blair's brows furrowed, the name meaning nothing to her. But she couldn't ever remember seeing Cam so uncomfortable. Angry, worried—even, on rare occasions, frightened. But never quite like this. Suddenly Blair stiffened, knowing with the sixth sense of a lioness whose territory was about to be invaded precisely to whom her lover referred. In a dangerously calm tone, Blair repeated, "Claire. Your Claire—of the beautiful face and the elegant body and the oh-so-sophisticated demeanor. That Claire."

"She's not my Claire," Cam pointed out. "And—"

"I notice that you didn't disagree with the rest of my assessment," Blair interjected conversationally, but her eyes glinted like shards of glass in the sunlight.

For a moment, Cam couldn't follow the direction of the discussion, and then she laughed. Not the wisest thing to do, but she couldn't help herself. "You're kidding! You can't actually think I'd look at any other woman in the world when I have you."

"You've done a hell of a lot more than look at her." Blair couldn't even think about Cam being with another woman, let alone acknowledge that she'd been with someone so obviously beautiful and undoubtedly accomplished. In everything. It made her want to hurl breakable objects.

"That was before you," Cam said gently. "Now, there's only you, and there will only ever be you."

Blair blinked. "I hate it when you do that."

"What?"

"Make me forget why I'm mad at you."

Cam stood and stepped between Blair's legs, resting both hands on her lover's waist. She kissed her lightly on the mouth and grinned. "I love you."

Blair bumped her head against Cam's chest. "You'd better, because I swear to God, I won't be accountable for my actions otherwise."

Laughing quietly, Cam eased an arm around Blair's shoulder and leaned against the counter with Blair resting along the curve of her body. "Believe me, you have nothing to worry about."

"So what's going on?" Blair regarded Cam curiously. "With Claire?"

"Apparently, she's not Claire. Well, she is, or at least was, but she's also Valerie Ross."

"An alias?"

"Nope." Cam gently massaged the muscles in Blair's shoulders. "According to our records check, she really is Valerie Ross."

"And is she really an art dealer?"

Cam nodded. "Apparently so."

"Well. She is quite the mystery woman." Blair hooked her fingers over Cam's belt and beneath the waistband of her trousers, rubbing the back of her hand over Cam's stomach. "High-class Washington call girl, high-rolling art dealer, and drop-dead gorgeous femme fatale, I'm going to have to hurt her."

"We can't find anything to suggest she's a threat," Cam replied quietly, "but I can have Diane try to reach her and rescind the invitation. Or I can have Mac stop her at the door."

"Why?" Blair's tone was curious. Unconsciously, she pulled the tail of Cam's shirt loose so she could touch her palm to skin.

"Because this is a special night for you, and I don't want anything to spoil it."

Blair leaned away far enough so that she could meet her lover's eyes. "You'd do that?"

A look of confusion crossed Cam's face. "Of course."

"I don't mind if she comes." Blair thought of the few brief moments late one night standing beneath a streetlight with Cam's lover, if that's what Claire—Valerie—truly had been. She remembered a beautiful woman with deep sadness in her eyes. She'd recognized the sadness born of loneliness because she'd felt it so often herself. "She probably doesn't even realize we'll be there. Often, when the gallery has a private showing for a few select dealers before the opening, the artist isn't present. Besides, if she's got a client who's interested, she couldn't turn down the invitation. It's bad for business."

Surprised, Cam shrugged. "I'm not interested in her reasons. I'm only interested in what's best for you."

"It's fine, darling." Blair stood and put her free arm around Cam's neck while smoothing her palm up and down Cam's abdomen. She leaned hard into Cam with her thighs and pelvis, rolling her hips subtly. "Now, are you coming to the gym with me to spar?"

"Blair," Cam whispered, her voice husky. "It will hardly be a fair match if I'm too swollen to walk."

Blair chuckled. "All's fair in love and war, Commander."

1445 07Sep01

Five men crowded around a glass-topped dining-room table in a four-room condominium overlooking Central Park. None of them noticed the view. A blueprint was spread out in the center of the table, and several of the men held down the corners with their hands.,,

"The layout is simple," the brown-haired strike team leader said, punctuating his words with a finger tapping on the surface of the diagram. "Front and rear entrances, here and here."

"Guarded?" a gravelly voiced, heavyset man asked.

With an irritated flicker of his eyes at the interruption, the leader replied, "Not the rear, no. Routinely, there is a man posted only in the front lobby. The second elevator to the penthouse"—he pointed—"is keyed, but the common one to the rest of the building is not. The penthouse elevator can be called from the lobby, the command center-—here, or from the penthouse floor."

"So," a sandy-haired, fresh-faced younger man commented, "we have two possible routes of access: from the lobby with a frontal assault, or, if that fails, from a flanking maneuver on the upper floors."

"Exactly." The team leader pointed to the rear entrance. "And this is the only exit other than through the lobby. It's easy to secure, and with all the rest of the confusion, if we move quickly, we should be out before anyone knows what's happened."

"Let's run through it then," the heavyset man suggested impatiently. "We've only got three days."

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