Chapter 21
TWENTY-ONE
LANCE
I check my phone, looking for a text that reads, “on my way,” or “almost there.” But there’s nothing. No notifications. I just have to stand here in the blistering heat, dressed head to toe in black, waiting by the dumpsters behind my building for my ride. I look like the most well-dressed drug dealer in the world.
Almost two weeks after Vesper gave me the most condescending, patronizing assignment of my life, Vienne texted me. The directions were minimal. A black SUV would arrive at the back of my building at precisely seven o’clock. I was to meet her in a tailored tuxedo that she was having messengered over.
In regard to the tux, she wrote “nonnegotiable” in all caps. Vesper must’ve warned her about my rebellious attitude toward suits. When I texted Vienne and asked her if she needed my measurements, she said she already had them.
I received the suit a few hours ago, and the tux fit perfectly. The hem of the pants touches below my ankles at exactly the right height. The tailor even left the perfect amount of room in the crotch so my jewels aren’t strangled. Vienne somehow knows the size of my body down to the millimeter. I’m going to have to pretend like that doesn’t make me extremely uncomfortable. I swear if this woman gropes me tonight… Actually, I don’t know what the hell I’ll do. I can’t put the First Lady in a headlock, right? Not even Vesper could get me out of that mess.
Right as I decide I need to head back inside for a cup of water before I melt into a puddle, I hear the grinding of tires, slowly creeping through the alley. A black stretch escalade with blackout windows pulls up next to me. As soon as the vehicle halts, the back passenger side window rolls down. Vienne drapes her hand over the window ledge, flashing her large wedding ring.
Her hair and makeup are done up like she’s about to walk the red carpet. From what I can tell, she’s wearing about a pound of diamonds between her ears, neck, wrist, and left ring finger. “You look hot, Lance,” she says.
Oh, God. Here we go. I take two steps toward the car and lean down so we’re at eye level. The air conditioner coming from inside the vehicle feels like heaven. “I want to clear this up before things get uncomfortable. Per Vesper’s request, I’m at your service and here to protect you. But you’re married to the President of the United States. Don’t get me wrong, you’re a very attractive woman, and maybe in other circumstances, but I have a girl. Or had.” I run my hand over the sides of my freshly trimmed hair. “I’m working on turning the ‘had’ back into a ‘have’ and I’m not interested in anything else. So, if we could keep this strictly professional, I’d appreciate it.”
Vienne tilts her head to the side as she narrows her eyes. She clears her throat and asks, “Just so I’m understanding, you think I requested you as my personal—”
“Cabana boy. Correct.”
She sucks in her lips and pulls her hand back into the car. Right when I think I’ve pissed her off with my rejection, she holds out a bottle of ice-cold water. “You look hot , Lance,” she repeats. “As in, you look sloppy. You have sweat dripping down your face. Drink some cold water and compose yourself. I don’t like my security looking disheveled.”
Hesitantly, I take the bottle of water and uncap it. After a small sip, I ask, “So you weren’t hitting on me?”
She blinks at me wordlessly, like I’m dense in the head. “Would you like me to be hitting on you?”
“No.”
“Good. Now that we’re clear— get in . We have a lot to talk about.”
“Being?”
“Get in,” she barks. She pushes her door open and moves to the far seat, leaving room for me to climb into the SUV.
The moment I’m seated, the car peels forward. “Where are we going tonight?”
“Cricket didn’t tell you?”
“No,” I say with an edge of irritation. “I haven’t heard from her.” I’ve been trying to respect Cricket’s space, just like Eden suggested. It’s been almost a month since she was assigned to Gabriel. She’s undercover, and in case he is dangerous, I’m not going to risk her cover by trying to contact her.
“That’s probably because she’s been shacked up with Gabriel at his bed-and-breakfast in wine country every weekend.”
For a brief moment, the entire world goes black as a nauseating surge of adrenaline takes over my body. I ball up my fists. “What do you mean, ‘shacked up’?”
“I mean, the receptionist at his bed-and-breakfast told my assistant that Mr. Lochland has checked in three weekends in a row with a guest. He also RSVP’d for two to Sal’s birthday dinner.”
Images of Gabriel and Cricket, naked , and wrapped around each other like a folded pretzel, poison my mind. The air-conditioning is frigid, blowing right in my face, but my blood is still boiling. “He’s bringing Cricket?”
“I think he knows her as Ms. O’Leary,” Vienne says. “Or that’s what he put down on the RSVP anyway.”
What? No way she gave him her real name. I try to swallow down the giant lump in my throat, but it’s not budging. “So, we’re all dressed up for a birthday party?”
Vienne smiles. “Sal loves a black-tie affair. We do this every year for his birthday at the same Japanese restaurant. Cocktails and butlered hors d’oeuvres for the first hour, followed by a hibachi dinner, which always melts my makeup right off.” She exhales, smoothing her hair. “But he loves it, so we do it.”
“Who is coming?”
“An extensive VIP list. A few senators, ambassadors, his parents, and sister—whose invitation I purposely didn’t send, but lo and behold, she still RSVP’d.”
“You’re not a fan of the in-laws?”
“His sister still calls me a gold digger to this day.” Vienne laughs. “My family has quadruple the money of Sal’s, so it never made sense. I think she just loves to hate me.”
“Huh,” I mutter distractedly. I’m still trying to push the image of Cricket grinding on another man’s cock from the forefront of my brain.
“What’s wrong?” Vienne asks. “I’m sorry I made you get dressed up, but the food will be fantastic. And you can drink as much as you want.”
“You want me to drink on the job? Not very professional, Mrs. Baker.”
The partition rolls down and a driver with a black cap and dark-as-midnight sunglasses turns his head. “POTUS is five minutes out, Vienne. Are we arriving before or after?”
“After,” she says. “Lance and I need fifteen more minutes. Circle the block, then pull around the front. Tell my husband’s team to wait for me at the entrance.”
“Ma’am,” he says simply as acknowledgment, then rolls the partition back up.
Vienne reaches into her clutch and pulls out a small, silver flask. She takes a swig, then blows out a sharp breath. She holds the flask out to me. “I don’t need you to take a bullet for me tonight, Lance. I have Secret Service for that. I needed to get you alone, away from Vesper, because I need your help.”
She dangles the flask in front of my face. Taking it, I throw back a large gulp, not caring what’s in it. Anything to drown out the image of Cricket with Gabriel.
“Help with what?”
“I’m sensing Vesper’s hesitance.”
“I’ll admit, she has a healthy level of skepticism,” I reply.
Vienne shakes her head. “If Cricket can’t get me what we need, can I count on you?”
I take another large swig of the liquor, letting it burn my throat. It tastes like cheap bourbon. A hint of sweetness, with a bitter afterburn. “How can Cricket find what you’re looking for if she doesn’t even know what that is? We don’t know what Gabriel’s hiding. It could be anything from a blueprint of the White House to a secret bunker of man-killing robots. We literally have no context.”
“You’re looking for a bomb,” Vienne says. “A thermonuclear bomb, probably the size of a baseball.”
“What?”
“I need you to keep a secret, Lance.”
“From who?” I ask hesitantly.
“Everyone.”
“I don’t keep secrets from my family,” I reply.
“Even if the world depended on it?”
I eye her, my stare sharp. I’ve had enough of the riddles. “What’s going on, Vienne?”
She takes the flask back from my hand and takes a hearty swig. “The reason Vesper doesn’t trust me is because I didn’t tell the whole truth. The truth is a little more incriminating. For Sal .”
She looks so defeated, the way her eyes are turned down at the corners. “I needed Vesper to think the world was in danger so she’d intervene. But in reality…”
“Gabriel isn’t dangerous?” I ask.
“Oh, no. He’s extremely dangerous. But Sal created the monster. About five years ago, during Sal’s first term, Gabriel came to us with the idea of an extinction switch. An ultimate weapon that could subdue the world. But he wanted to keep the design small—the size of a baseball, easily hidden, and very complicated to deploy—so no accidents.”
“Why the redundancy? Doesn’t your husband already carry around launch codes for nukes that could take out the world?”
“No, Lance. Those are weapons for war. War is fought with the intention of victor and survivors. Gabriel suggested humanity may need the threat of a reset button. He was curious about a bomb that could implode the entire world with one launch. Something too quick for retaliation and far too vast to outrun. Nobody would be safe. No bunker would go untouched. It would be an official self-destruct button of humankind.”
“And you didn’t immediately institutionalize him?” I lift a brow.
Vienne frowns. “It was never ever his intention to use it. Just to get to the tech first. Any country could launch nuclear warfare and inflict mass casualties. But having the power to wipe out the entirety of mankind is enough motivation to keep nuclear war in check. Whoever had control of the ultimate weapon, would control—”
“Everything,” I say.
“It was a silly thought. That kind of weaponry is impossible. It only exists in made-up stories. But Sal supported Gabriel, assuming it’d come to a dead end. But in his mind, on the off chance that this kind of invention was possible, better for the U.S. to have it before anyone else. Sal granted him access to everything—secret research facilities, sealed documents, notes from the Manhattan Project. Then there was that incident in South Africa, near Koeburg.”
“What incident?”
“There’s a registered nuclear plant in Koeburg, but it has a secret sister station about fifty miles away. There were rumors of disturbing research going on there, so the U.S. keeps an eye on it. Then, one day, there was an explosion. It blows the plant to smithereens, and apparently, some equipment was stolen.”
“You think Gabriel needed something there for the bomb?”
“No,” says Vienne. “I think there were developers there working on a similar concept. And I don’t think Gabriel wanted the competition.”
“Okay, so illegal bomb-makers got blown up. Isn’t that poetic justice in a way?”
“Lance,” Vienne says, cocking her head to the side. “The explosion of that plant leveled two nearby villages. Hundreds of lives lost. Children included. When Gabriel gets hyper-focused on something, he doesn’t see people as equals. More like wild dogs…easily disposable. That’s why he’s dangerous. He’s disturbingly egotistical and a very skilled liar.”
My stomach drops at the way Vienne’s tone is dark and pleading… Now, I’m worried about Cricket. “So, what about the bomb?”
“Years go by without another word about it. Then, a couple of months ago, Gabriel called, shit-faced and crying. He left me a message saying that he did it…Project Tasmanian was done.”
“As in a Tasmanian tiger?”
“Yes, as in the name of an extinct animal. Gabriel has an IQ in the 160s. If anyone could figure out the physics of a weapon like that…”
“You think he actually built it, don’t you?”
Vienne nods. “I do. The world’s most dangerous weapon, and if they find out Sal technically commissioned and supported it, we’ll have World War III on our hands.”
“So, ask Gabriel about it.”
Vienne shakes her head. “I’ve tried. He won’t talk to me. He pretends he has no recollection of that phone call, and that he was simply high that night and talking nonsense. But I don’t believe it for one second. I think he built it and feels incredibly guilty about it—but I can’t be certain.”
“You need to search everything—”
“How, Lance? He might have an instant extinction button for every living thing on this planet. And he’s the only one who knows how to operate it. We can’t provoke him.”
“Maybe Sal could get through?”
Vienne sighs. “I meant it when I said my husband has a golden heart. He believes in protocol and diplomacy. He would want to do the right thing. So, I can’t tell Sal. He would go right to his advisors, spilling the beans that a weapon like this exists. Sal may be good, but the rest of the scheming militant White House advisors would see this as an opportunity. Power corrupts men in the worst of ways.”
I point ahead to where the driver’s seat is. “You realize we have company on the other side.”
“The partition is soundproof.”
I exhale. “I really think we need to tell Vesper the truth. She could help.”
Vienne shakes her head. “I don’t trust her to not run to Sal. PALADIN is privately commissioned by the President. Her loyalty is more to Sal than me.”
“Then what do you want from me, Vienne?”
“If worse comes to worst, I want you to pull the trigger, even if Vesper can’t.”
“Cricket is collecting as much intel as she can,” I insist. “We have to wait to see what she finds out.”
The First Lady scoffs. “You have no idea how charming he really is. I’d bet my last dollar Cricket is already in love with him…meaning, she’s useless. When the time comes, I need you to pull the trigger. At least with Gabriel dead, the bomb stays hidden, never to be deployed.”
At that moment, it becomes crystal clear what this mission really is. Saving humanity is secondary. Vienne is desperate to cover up their mistakes. This is about protecting a legacy. She doesn’t want her husband to go down in history as the president who ended the world as we know it.
There’s a firm knock on Vienne’s side of the car. Assuming my role as bodyguard, I reach for my handle and climb out the door with two hands in the air. A cluster of agents, dressed in neat suits, glance skeptically in my direction.
“He’s clear,” the tall one says. “Vienne’s personal security.”
I nod at him as he steps aside so I can get to Vienne’s door.
“I’ve got it, son,” a firm but friendly voice says from behind me. A large hand clasps my shoulder, and I spin around.
“Mr. President,” I say. “Nice to meet you. I’m your wife’s security detail this evening.”
“Thank you,” President Baker says, a warm smile spreading ear to ear. His salt-and-pepper brows lift as he points to the door handle. “Do you mind? This is my job.”
“Your job?” I ask.
He laughs. “Would you like to know the secret to a happy marriage?”
“Sure.”
“Even eighteen years later, don’t stop opening doors for your lady.” President Baker winks at me and opens the car door. He clutches his chest like he might have a heart attack. “My goodness, woman. That dress. You look radiant.”
Vienne smiles. Her eyes brighten, and she flushes. “Oh, Sal. This ol’ thing? You’ve seen it before.”
“Not like this,” he says, holding his hand out to her. President Baker guides her out of the vehicle, ensuring she doesn’t slip on the short train of her sparkling red dress. I take a small step back to give the couple more space when Vienne kisses Sal’s cheek.
“Happy birthday, my love,” Vienne says.
President Baker beams at her. “Thank you, sugar.”
I trail behind the President and the First Lady with the back end of their security team as we head toward the restaurant entrance. “Sugar?” I ask in a whisper to the Secret Service member who vouched for me before. That’s a little cringeworthy.
“Always. His favorite nickname for her,” he mumbles back.