Chapter Five #2
“Done,” Spence said as he escorted her to the snack area, with a coffee maker and a fridge. He prepared her coffee with the precisely correct amounts of cream and sugar.
His hands didn’t shake. His posture was relaxed. She remembered what he’d said about the elite unit he’d been a part of when he was in the military. Rangers lead the way. Spence had been in danger before. Of course, he had. He’d managed those shooters in Denver without firing a single shot.
She sat at one of the round tables in the lounge.
The hard plastic chair was uncomfortable, but she hardly noticed.
Under the table, her leg bounced nervously.
Compared to the frantic scene outside, the cavernous interior of the hangar felt cool and calm.
She inhaled and exhaled deep breaths and shrugged her shoulders to release the iron grip of tension.
The pilot joined her at the table. Like Spence, his attitude was relaxed.
As if being shot at was not a big deal. In a steady voice, the pilot talked about the relative merits of living in Oregon versus Colorado.
She nodded politely, allowing his words to wash over her.
Normal conversation. Nothing to worry about.
Nothing to fear. No sooner had she begun to relax than a sustained burst of gunfire echoed from outside.
“SWAT has arrived,” Spence said as he joined them.
Though the SWAT team must have been focused on the tower several hundred yards away, their gunfire sounded too close for comfort.
The copilot and a woman in a grease-stained mechanic jumpsuit peered around the edge of the open front doors for a better view of the action.
What’s wrong with these people? Do they have a death wish?
As far as Mollie was concerned, they could have this excitement. She didn’t want to see or hear or think about danger. If her twin had been here, Madison would have been watching the SWAT assault, probably with a pair of binoculars for a close-up study.
Mollie ground her back teeth together and tried to swallow her fear and her anger. Sounds of violence assaulted her. Warning shouts. Incessant gunfire. Broken glass. If she closed her eyes, she imagined the horrific explosion on the yacht where Madison and her lover had been staying.
Spence sat beside her and placed his hand over hers. When he smiled, his dimples flickered. “What are you thinking about?” he asked.
“My sister. I saw the video of the bombing near Mazatlán. The fireball. The crashing roar.” She shook her head. “Actually, there was no sound to go with the image. My imagination fills in the blanks.”
She glanced over her shoulder at the open door to the hangar where the noise of the firefight seemed to be fading. She heard the wail of the ambulance siren driving away. The two officers who had been first on the scene entered the hangar and made a beeline for the coffee urn.
Spence squeezed her hand and spoke quietly. “This will be over soon. We’ll go somewhere safe. And quiet.”
“Don’t promise something you can’t deliver.” Far too often, she’d been deceived. Her dad kept talking about a time when their lives would get back on track. The WITSEC people described protection that too often failed. And now, Spence? “Don’t lie to me.”
“You deserve the truth.” He checked his wristwatch. “The safe house is less than an hour away. In a thick forest near a stream, it’s about halfway between Salem and Cloverdell.”
One of the police officers sat at their table, introduced himself as Officer Connor and stated that he needed to interview them. Taking a small notebook from his pocket, he looked toward her. “Your name?”
Unsure of whether she should respond with her WITSEC alias or her real name, she looked toward Spence. He immediately picked up on her concern and spoke for her. “I’m her attorney. For now, we need to withhold her name.”
“And if we need to speak to her?”
He held out a business card. “Contact me through Cameron Law Firm.”
“Fine,” the officer said. “How about a phone number?”
She remembered tossing her cell phone out the window of Spence’s moving car. “Don’t have one at the moment.”
Officer Connor lowered his eyebrows into a scowl. “I don’t suppose you’re going to tell me your address.” For five years, she hadn’t identified herself by her real name, hadn’t given her phone number or address. Her identity was supposed to be secret. “I live in Denver.”
“Why are you here?”
“I used to live in Cloverdell.” She straightened her shoulders. It felt good to speak the truth for a change. “I went to high school there and lived with my great-aunt.”
When the officer nodded and cocked his head to one side, Mollie recognized the attitude of dawning recognition.
Something clicked for him. Since the cop was her age or slightly older, they might have been in high school at the same time, which didn’t guarantee they were buddies or anything.
But her twin had dated half the male population of the Willamette Valley.
Even if they hadn’t made physical contact, they’d heard about her or seen her photo in The Oregonian when she was Miss Marionberry or a finalist in the Oregon Rose Pageant.
He asked, “Have we met?”
Explaining could be risky. Madison had not only dated dozens of guys, but she’d unceremoniously dumped them all. “I’m sorry, sir. I don’t think I know you.”
“Uh-huh.” A knowing grin curled his lip. “I’m going to need a more detailed statement from you.”
“Not right now,” Spence interrupted. “We’ll be happy to comply with all necessary procedures, but it has to wait until tomorrow. Call my office to set up an appointment. Right now, I need to get Ms. Harper out of harm’s way.”
“Not so fast.” Officer Connor stood and hitched his thumbs in his belt. “I’m the one calling the shots here. I’ll tell you when to go and when to stay.”
Spence rose and faced him. He stood a couple of inches taller and radiated authority. “Special Agent Jamison will back me up, Officer. And I’d appreciate if you don’t talk to the media without clearing your comments through proper channels.”
“The media? Like TV stations and the newspaper?” Connor puffed out his chest. “What’s going on here, anyway?”
Jamison shoved open the door from the office into the hangar, then strode across the room to Spence and the cops. “The tower has been cleared,” he said.
“Any arrests?” Connor asked.
“The sniper got away. SWAT found bullet casings on the fourth floor. We can use those to run ballistics as well as processing footprints and handprints at the scene.”
Connor shot a glance toward her and Spence. “Should we be talking in front of civilians?”
“I’ve worked with Spence Cameron and CLF before,” Jamison said. “I figure this will be a joint investigation. For now, the FBI is in charge.”
“Yessir,” Connor said. “Do you need for us to check the airport surveillance video? We might identify the sniper’s vehicle.”
“Good idea, and I’d appreciate if you and your partner would coordinate with SWAT. The FBI forensics team should be here soon.” Jamison stepped up beside Spence. “And you, my friend, should get this lady out of here. Stay in touch.”
“Thanks, Jesse.”
Connor muscled his way closer, tipped his cap to her and grinned. “Looking forward to seeing you again.” He gave her a wink.
Spence walked beside her as they exited the hangar through the huge, open front doors.
Across the tarmac, about three hundred yards away, she saw the fireman’s tower surrounded by police vehicles with lights flashing and the big, ominous-looking SWAT transport.
Glad they’re on my side. As she watched, a van from one of the Portland TV stations trundled across the airfield toward the center of all this excitement.
A sniper attack was big news. Spence had been right about media attention.
Five years of hiding her identity would be erased in minutes…
unless she went back into WITSEC. Was that even possible?
On the far side of the shattered office of Salem Beacon Charter was a small parking area. Two SUVs—one black and another dark green—were parked side by side. A tall, muscular guy dressed in black from head to toe stood waiting beside the cars.
She raised an eyebrow and asked Spence, “Does he work for you?”
“Yes. Rossi is employed by the security division of CLF.”
“Cameron Law Firm.” The initials sounded tougher and more ominous. “What was the deal with that cop?” he asked. “Do you know him?”