Radclyffe - (Honor 4) - Honor Guards Read online

  "I don't know. Throw something? Cry maybe. It doesn't seem to make much difference." Blair shrugged off the melancholy. "I have to keep reminding myself that Lucinda has only one goal in mind, and that's keeping my father in the White House. That's not a bad agenda. I like her. I always have. It's not her fault that she's so single-minded."

  "No! Nor is it yours how you choose to live your life, or whom you choose to love."

  Blair leaned once again against the magnificent window casing. "I didn't choose to love you, Cameron. I just couldn't help myself."

  "Same here." Cam tucked her hands into her front pockets and edged a shoulder against the opposite side of the leaded-glass windows. She regarded her lover contemplatively. "Are you ready for this afternoon?"

  "Which part?" Blair laughed humorlessly as she thought about the media attention to come.

  "The hospital."

  Blair gave a small start. "God, it scares me to realize how well you know me already."

  Cam lifted a shoulder. "Not nearly as well as I want to. Not nearly as well as I intend to."

  "Hospitals." Without being aware of it, Blair shivered. "It doesn't matter what they look like or how hard everyone tries to make them feel welcoming. There's something about the air...or maybe it's the light. Or maybe it's just the way everyone walks around with that horrible mixture of hope and despair warring hi their eyes." Blair lifted a hand and let it fall helplessly. "All of a sudden I'm twelve again. It all happened so fast, and then she was gone."

  Cam nodded, understanding all too well how life could change in the blink of an eye. Her father had been killed in a car bombing, and in the space of time it had taken for her to run back to the house for her book bag and return to the sidewalk to find his car engulfed in flames, her world had been altered forever. Blair had never talked to her about this before, and Cam chose her words carefully. "How fast?"

  "Less than a year. The tumor was aggressive, and despite everything she did...and she did everything right...it didn't make any difference." Blair turned her head to look out the window, seeing nothing as she waited for the brimming tears to subside. "Everyone did everything they could have or should have. It just didn't help. They even did a bone marrow transplant, which was experimental back then for breast cancer. Some women do go into remission after that, but not as many as with leukemia or the other blood malignancies. She didn't."

  Cam made a small noise of comfort. Blair was lost in memory, and Cam just let her talk.

  "The last few months she was more often in the hospital than out. My father was a newly seated governor and tremendously busy. Still, he was there as much as he could be." She glanced back at Cam. "But a lot of the time I was there by myself."

  Wanting nothing more in the world than to take Blair into her arms and make every hurt she had ever suffered disappear, Cam railed inwardly at her impotence. She yearned to reach into the past and rewrite history, so that the child Blair had been would never have felt frightened or lonely or in pain. The inability to do that was one of the most frustrating things Cam had ever experienced. Never before bad she realized just how terribly helpless love could make one feel. Throat tight, she asked gently, "Was it hard?"

  Blair smiled wistfully. "Sometimes, But it was wonderful, too. We talked so much. Probably more than we ever would have if things had turned out differently." She laughed quietly, more freely this time. "Girls do tend to spend decades at odds with their mothers."

  "I'm sure Marcea would agree," Cam remarked, referring to her own mother.

  Blair closed the distance between them and put her arms around Cam's waist. "Marcea adores you, and you know it." She rested her head lightly on her lover's shoulder. "I'll be fine."

  Cam kissed her temple and stroked her back. "Of course you will."

  "You'll be nearby, won't you?"

  "Every single minute."

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  1505 16Aug01

  S lowly, the thin man raised his head and squinted infinitesimally against the bright August sun. The boulevard below had suddenly come alive with activity. Within the span of five minutes, six teleyision news vans and at least as many cars, most bearing the logos of news agencies, crowded into the street directly in front of the Institut Gustave-Roussy. For a relatively low-profile humanitarian visit of little international import, this degree of coverage seemed unusual. He had anticipated and considered media presence in planning his position, the deployment of the ambulance, and the exit strategies, but the current situation could prove to be problematic. Even as he observed the beehive of commotion below, two more vans, the printing on the side panels indicating German and Italian networks, jockeyed for position with the others. The boulevard was rapidly becoming congested. Vehicles were angled into no-parking zones and fire lanes, some were left double- or triple-parked on the shoulder, and swelling crowds of reporters, photographers, and television crews jostled in an ever-increasing shifting mass on the sidewalks.

  If the motorcade arrived as planned, he could still make his shot. There would be a momentary hiatus when the target would be exposed just before the swarm of media hounds and paparazzi descended, and that was all the time he required.

  Extraction and evacuation through the maze of vehicles, however, might not be so straightforward. His finger lightly depressed the trigger, just short of the pressure required for discharge. What happened after he fired was not his concern.

  "All set?" Cam had shed her jacket and weapon harness and sat on the broad plush sofa, her arm loosely draped around Blair's shoulders. Blair had kicked off her shoes and sat curled against Cam's side, her feet drawn up onto the sofa. For the last twenty minutes, she'd been leafing through a French magazine, but Cam had the sense she wasn't really reading anything.

  "Mmm, I guess." Blair tossed the magazine onto the coffee table and rested her left hand on Cam's thigh. "What do you want me to say if they ask me about you? About...us."

  "What would you say if I weren't your security chief?"

  "I'd tell them to stuff it"

  Cam smiled and stroked Blair's arm. "Let's pretend that's not an option."

  "The last thing I would do is give the press an entree to my lover and expose her to the kind of scrutiny I've been subjected to all these years."

  "Might I suggest 'no comment' then?"

  "Yes." Blair's tone held a trace of scorn. "Putting it diplomatically, as ever, Commander."

  "Works for me." Cam lifted a shoulder. "No need for you to fight unnecessary battles."

  Blair shifted so that she could see Cam's face. "They already know it's you because we told them."

  "True. We acknowledged that the newspaper photograph was of us and, in the process, dispelled some unseemly rumors about you. That was worth the exposure."

  "Maybe. And maybe it wasn't so smart," Blair said quietly. "Mitchell practically drooled when he found out you were my lover. The press-—hell, the public—loves that kind of story. It could still come back on you professionally."

  "It won't." And if it does, I'll deal with it She studied the storm brewing in her lover's eyes and couldn't decide if it was anger at the invasion of privacy or worry over her. "Hell, your father even supports me staying on as your security chief."

  "Yes—that means a lot." Blair smiled, thinking just how much that meant now. "He asked about you today."

  Cam's eyes darkened, and she straightened automatically.

  "Oh? Does he have any concerns? I can report—"

  Blair laughed. "Relax, lover. He wanted to know if you were okay about the press thing."

  "What about the press?" Cam's confusion was clear.

  "Oh God—you really don't think about yourself in the equation." She brushed her fingers over Cam's cheek. "He wanted to know if we were okay—if the media attention was bothering you."

  "What? Does he think I'd walk away because of it? Walk out on you?" Cam's voice held an edge, and a muscle bunched along her jaw. "Maybe he and I should have a talk."

  "Sweethe
art?" Blair forced back another laugh even as her heart swelled with wonder and delight. "You can't take him on— he's the president."

  "He's your father, too, and if he doesn't understand how much I love you, then he needs to."

  "You mean it, don't you?" Blair's throat grew tight with the swift rush of emotion. "Oh, Cam. I can't quite get used to it, but I love how you love me."

  Cam framed Blair's face gently with both hands. "I want you to feel it every day, everywhere, forever."

  Blair turned her face and kissed Cam's palm. "I've never felt so special."

  "Good," Cam whispered. "Now forget about the press. You're not required to provide any further information."

  "They'll be hungry for more."

  "They're always hungry." Cam leaned forward and kissed Blair, savoring the softness of her lips and the heat of her mouth. "Let them starve."

  When they separated, Blair's voice was steady and sure. "It's time to go, Commander." She rose and held out a hand. "I have some ribbons to cut and a speech to make. After that, I'm hoping that my lover will take me out to dinner somewhere quiet and private."

  The corner of Cam's mouth lifted as she took Blair's hand. "I'll be sure that she gets the message, Ms. Powell."

  "See that you do."

  Before they reached the elevators, Cam's mic vibrated. She lifted her wrist. "Roberts."

  Advance team reporting. We've got unusually high media traffic on the main approach route, Commander.

  "Numbers?"

  Two dozen vehicles. Head count's a hundred and rising.

  Cam's expression hardened. Crowd control and close-range security outside the hospital were now the critical issues. She could draft the hospital security force as backup, but they weren't trained for this kind of maneuver and would likely prove to be more hindrance than help. The last thing she needed was an overeager hospital guard manhandling a reporter. She wanted to prevent an incident, not precipitate one.

  The official French security personnel were already posted as perimeter protection, and she would not leave her borders exposed by pulling them off that detail. The elevator doors opened, and she and Blair stepped on.

  "Roger that." She keyed her mic to a different frequency. "Mac."

  Go ahead, Commander.

  "Your vehicle will take the lead. Egret's will follow."

  Roger that.

  "Trouble?" Blair asked quietly.

  "Nothing to worry about," Cam replied smoothly.

  "Don't try that with me, Cameron."

  Cam sighed. As they exited into the main lobby, Stark and Felicia moved in on either side, falling into step as Blair walked toward the front doors. "The media are out in force. We may need to adjust."

  "Just get me through them."

  "Absolutely."

  Mac, Reynolds, and Fielding waited under the canopy on the sidewalk. As soon as Blair appeared, they turned and moved ahead of her so that she was ringed by agents.

  Blair glanced at Cam. "What's with the close-range coverage?" She spoke quietly, so that Felicia and Stark did not hear.

  "I forget," Cam murmured as the men fanned out by the side of the second Peugeot and she reached for the rear door handle, "that you know so much about what we do."

  "You're stalling," Blair observed as Cam held the door and she slid with practiced ease into the vehicle.

  Cam settled next to her while Stark got behind the wheel and Felicia took the front passenger seat. A pane of Plexiglas with a built-in speaker separated the passenger compartments. "The news release this morning introduces an unknown factor into our usual security protocol. Being out of the country amplifies that. I'm being cautious."

  "You're always cautious." Blair smiled fondly and rested her hand once again on Cam's thigh. "I've come to expect that. One thing I've always felt with you is safe."

  "Thank you." Briefly, Cam covered Blair's hand with her own and squeezed. "Of all the things I hope you feel because of me, that's one of the most important."

  "I know., It isn't something I was looking for, and certainly not something I expected to find with another person."

  "Then I'm truly honored." Cam gave an apologetic shrug. "I need to ignore you for a bit while I work."

  Blair settled back, her face composed and her eyes distant. "I know. You go ahead. I'll see you later."

  1549 16Aug01

  The view through the high-powered scope was a few inches of sidewalk directly in front of the main entrance to the Institut. At the moment nothing showed between the crosshairs other than concrete. But in eleven minutes, a vehicle would slide to the curb and the first agent would step out. In the span of ten seconds, she would look first straight ahead and then left and right before finally swiveling to look back over the top of the vehicle to the buildings across the street. Unlike his predecessor, he would not allow a glint of sunlight on steel or twitch of nerves to give his position away. He would see her, but she would not see him. At that point, he would have a clear shot directly between her eyes.

  By eleven seconds after arrival, the front doors would open, and the agent in the passenger seat would step to the end of the open rear door while the driver circled the vehicle to flank the lead agent.

  At fifteen seconds, the primary target would emerge. Within twenty seconds, the tightly positioned group would begin moving, making his shot more difficult. That five-second span between her exit from the vehicle and her first step was his window of opportunity. More than enough time.

  Cam opened a channel to the advance team. "Advance team— report."

  It's a mess, Commander. You'll need to slow to under 10 kph just to get down the street to the entrance.

  "What's the situation streetside?"

  We've cordoned off the sidewalk, but it's a long approach. Time to full cover four minutes.

  The original estimate had been two.

  "Assessment?" She didn't like the fact that the motorcade would need to slow to a crawl for the length of the boulevard in front of the Institut. They'd make very good targets at that speed. She especially did not like that it would take twice as long as expected to get Egret into the building. Even with no specific intelligence indicating an elevated threat level, anything that forced her into a defensive position raised her suspicions. Ten seconds passed with no response. "Rogers—are we clear on current course or not?"

  His hesitation only added to Cam's reservations. Phil Rogers had done advance work for the team before, and she found him thorough and astute. His eye-level read of the situation was critical, but ultimately only her assessment mattered.

  I would categorize the situation as suboptimal but secure, Commander.

  "Very well, Agent Rogers. Stand by."

  Cam leaned forward and activated the global positioning system on the computer built into the partition between the front and rear seats. She worked the keyboard rapidly, zooming in on the Paris street map until she brought up the six square blocks surrounding their destination. When she entered a series of coordinates, three alternate routes outlined in red, yellow, and green appeared on the grid.

  "If we sneak around the reporters," Blair said quietly, "it will look as if I'm afraid to confront the issue."

  "You've already confronted the issue," Cam pointed out, her eyes still on the screen.

  "I want to go in the front door as planned. I won't have it seem that I'm ashamed."

  Cam opened another channel. "Mac, divert to Alt Route Yellow."

  Roger that.

  After repeating the same instructions to Stark, she contacted the advance team again. "ETA nine minutes—-switching to ARY. We'll use the emergency entrance on the south side."

  Roger that.

  "Cam—"

  "I can't be concerned with appearances." Cam met Blair's irritated gaze unwaveringly. "I'm sorry."

  "My father was right not to remove you from this post," Blair observed flatly. "Your involvement with me doesn't affect the way you do the job. I should've remembered that."

  Cam
wasn't certain if that was a criticism or not, but she didn't have time to consider it.

  ETA five minutes.

  The faint vibration at his hip produced no physical response. His heart rate did not accelerate, his blood pressure did not elevate, his finger did not move even a fraction of a millimeter on the trigger. Once again, without moving his face from its resting place against the rifle stock, he lifted the pager to eye level.

  1556 16Aug01

  Abort sequence two

  He inched his head upward and watched emotionlessly as the armored ambulance rolled slowly down the lane toward the main street and wended through the haphazardly parked news vans until it disappeared from sight around the corner. Then he rested back on his heels and dispassionately disassembled his weapon. With careful precision, he repacked the main assembly into the bottom of his toolbox and stowed the various smaller mechanisms in his pockets in exactly the same order in which he had withdrawn them almost four hours earlier. Task completed, he turned his back to the wall and sat down on the roof, his legs stretched out in front of him.

  He would wait three hours before making his way down the stairwell and out of the building. Then he would return to his two-room apartment, resume his unassuming life, and await further instructions. His orders might come that night or the next day or the next week. He could only hope that he would be given another critical role in the complex plan to send notice to the world that even the mightiest of superpowers was vulnerable to those with a clear and certain calling, and that the righteous would ultimately prevail. The sweat running into his eyes brought tears swimming to their surface, but he did not blink.

  God Bless America.

  CHAPTER NINE

  " O ne in every eight women will develop breast cancer." Blair stood at the front of a large, well-appointed auditorium. It was designed to accommodate several hundred people in individual plush fabric chairs arranged in traditional tiered, semicircular rows, and it was full. Her audience consisted primarily of potential benefactors, with a smattering of hospital personnel. After touring the research and clinical wings, she'd spent the last twenty-five minutes discussing the disease that had killed her mother. "One woman dies of breast cancer every twelve minutes."