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Authors: Mark Terry
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implications. Are you familiar with a DHS troubleshooter by the name of Derek Stillwater?”
Padillo searched his memory and shrugged. “Name rings a bell, but I don’t know why.”
“He retrieved Chimera during last year’s—”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Right. He’s dead, though.”
“So we were led to believe.”
Padillo arched his eyebrows. “Meaning what?”
“Director Bray just received a phone call from Senator Weschel, head of the Senate Intelligence Committee. Weschel claims that Derek Stillwater isn’t actually dead, and that he’s here at the summit. Undercover.”
Padillo blinked. “Undercover.”
Macklin nodded.
“We weren’t informed of this. Not at all. He didn’t turn up on any background checks. Do we know what his cover is?”
“No,” said Macklin. “And we haven’t confirmed any of this.”
“Who’s Weschel’s source?”
“No idea.”
Padillo swallowed. Hard. The Secret Service was under the blanket of the Department of Homeland Security now. If Stillwater was really here, an undercover asset, he should have been informed.
“I don’t—” He stopped, not wanting to make it appear he was out of the loop or that he didn’t know how to handle this situation. “I see,” he said. “I’ll look into it. Thank you.”
Macklin cocked her head. “Look, Lee. It’s not completely clear if Stillwater’s one of the good guys or not. We were investigating him. There were hints he was involved with The Fallen Angels. When he died it got set aside. This smells like a cover-up.”
Padillo leaned back in his chair, hands up in a surrender gesture.“All right. Thank you. I get your point. I want a couple people looking for him. Once they find him, we want him locked up. We can deal with the particulars after the summit’s over. Take care of it. He’s your baby. Work for you?”
Macklin shot him a thumbs-up. “Absolutely.”
Chapter 20
Derek finished fixing the two sabotaged stoves under the harangues of Chef O’Grady. They fell off him the way water flowed off a rock. Derek wondered whatever would possess a man to scream at someone holding tools in his hand— an overwhelming desire to have a wrench jammed up his ass?
“Finally,” O’Grady said. “You took long enough.”
Derek stood up and turned to the chef, expression flat. He held a screwdriver pointed at O’Grady’s swelling midsection. “It took as long as it took,” he said. Something in his tone of voice and the look on his face must have gotten through to the chef, because he lapsed into silence for a moment.
Derek nodded. “Unless there’s something else out here, I’ll get to work on the walk-in.”
“No,” O’Grady said with a shake of his head. “That’s it for here.”
Derek collected his tools and walked away with a wink at one of the cooks. It was a short-lived respite. As soon as he was out of the area he heard O’Grady screaming: “Those are supposed to be carmelized! Not fried! Carmelized! We want the sugars! We’re not doing Cajun here! Nothing’s blackened! Where did you learn to cook? McDonald’s?”
Chapter 21
Richard Coffee and El Tiburón closed the ceiling panel by the entrance to the main banquet hall and stepped off the ladder. Coffee tapped his earpiece, listened for a moment, then said to El Tiburón, “Wheels up at Peterson. ETA twenty minutes.”
They pushed the now-empty dolly back into a storage area. Silently they stripped off their windbreakers and donned the white coats of the catering staff. Coffee spoke into his throat mic. “On schedule. I repeat, on schedule.”
The two men shared a satisfied glance. Everything was going according to plan. El Tiburón said, “This seems too easy.”
Coffee smiled. “Sometimes things go according to plan. But we’re not through yet. Are you ready?”
“I’m ready.”
The Fallen clamped a hand on the man’s shoulder. “A pleasure working with you.”
Without seeming to hurry, they separated. They exited the
Padillo searched his memory and shrugged. “Name rings a bell, but I don’t know why.”
“He retrieved Chimera during last year’s—”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Right. He’s dead, though.”
“So we were led to believe.”
Padillo arched his eyebrows. “Meaning what?”
“Director Bray just received a phone call from Senator Weschel, head of the Senate Intelligence Committee. Weschel claims that Derek Stillwater isn’t actually dead, and that he’s here at the summit. Undercover.”
Padillo blinked. “Undercover.”
Macklin nodded.
“We weren’t informed of this. Not at all. He didn’t turn up on any background checks. Do we know what his cover is?”
“No,” said Macklin. “And we haven’t confirmed any of this.”
“Who’s Weschel’s source?”
“No idea.”
Padillo swallowed. Hard. The Secret Service was under the blanket of the Department of Homeland Security now. If Stillwater was really here, an undercover asset, he should have been informed.
“I don’t—” He stopped, not wanting to make it appear he was out of the loop or that he didn’t know how to handle this situation. “I see,” he said. “I’ll look into it. Thank you.”
Macklin cocked her head. “Look, Lee. It’s not completely clear if Stillwater’s one of the good guys or not. We were investigating him. There were hints he was involved with The Fallen Angels. When he died it got set aside. This smells like a cover-up.”
Padillo leaned back in his chair, hands up in a surrender gesture.“All right. Thank you. I get your point. I want a couple people looking for him. Once they find him, we want him locked up. We can deal with the particulars after the summit’s over. Take care of it. He’s your baby. Work for you?”
Macklin shot him a thumbs-up. “Absolutely.”
Chapter 20
Derek finished fixing the two sabotaged stoves under the harangues of Chef O’Grady. They fell off him the way water flowed off a rock. Derek wondered whatever would possess a man to scream at someone holding tools in his hand— an overwhelming desire to have a wrench jammed up his ass?
“Finally,” O’Grady said. “You took long enough.”
Derek stood up and turned to the chef, expression flat. He held a screwdriver pointed at O’Grady’s swelling midsection. “It took as long as it took,” he said. Something in his tone of voice and the look on his face must have gotten through to the chef, because he lapsed into silence for a moment.
Derek nodded. “Unless there’s something else out here, I’ll get to work on the walk-in.”
“No,” O’Grady said with a shake of his head. “That’s it for here.”
Derek collected his tools and walked away with a wink at one of the cooks. It was a short-lived respite. As soon as he was out of the area he heard O’Grady screaming: “Those are supposed to be carmelized! Not fried! Carmelized! We want the sugars! We’re not doing Cajun here! Nothing’s blackened! Where did you learn to cook? McDonald’s?”
Chapter 21
Richard Coffee and El Tiburón closed the ceiling panel by the entrance to the main banquet hall and stepped off the ladder. Coffee tapped his earpiece, listened for a moment, then said to El Tiburón, “Wheels up at Peterson. ETA twenty minutes.”
They pushed the now-empty dolly back into a storage area. Silently they stripped off their windbreakers and donned the white coats of the catering staff. Coffee spoke into his throat mic. “On schedule. I repeat, on schedule.”
The two men shared a satisfied glance. Everything was going according to plan. El Tiburón said, “This seems too easy.”
Coffee smiled. “Sometimes things go according to plan. But we’re not through yet. Are you ready?”
“I’m ready.”
The Fallen clamped a hand on the man’s shoulder. “A pleasure working with you.”
Without seeming to hurry, they separated. They exited the
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