Deadly Deception Page 4

  The commander in chief dabbed the corner of his mouth with his napkin.

  Her eyes widened. “Oh, my God. You’re the reason. You forced the plane to land! Oh, my God, are you crazy?” Mara jumped from her chair and knocked it backward.

  “Ms. Byrne, please, sit down, so we can discuss this calmly.” He extended an arm toward her.

  “You’re insane. You detained a 747 full of passengers in the middle of Nowhere, Texas, to pull me off. Then you flew me here, wherever the hell here is, just to ask me about that stupid letter.” She darted to the door leading into the hallway. When she opened it, two uniformed men blocked her way. “Get out of my way,” she hissed at the guards.

  When the men refused to move, she turned and glared at the president squarely. “I need some air, so you can either let me go or you can send them with me. One way or another, I’m going to get some fresh air.”

  He nodded to the guards and they stepped aside. Her determined footsteps echoed down the hallway, gaining speed with each step. At the end of the corridor, she pushed the door open with fury.

  The warm night air hit her in a rush, blowing her long dark hair back. She took a few steps into the darkness. For the first time since the whole ordeal started, she felt she could breathe. She looked at the sky and saw a galaxy of stars, so many that she couldn’t take them all in at once. The stars held her transfixed. She looked around and found a quarter moon. It barely provided enough light for her to make out her surroundings.

  The building behind her appeared similar to the buildings she had seen at March Air Force Base. It matched the same sandy-beige walls and brown metal roof. She looked at the door and saw a sign with a number, no name, just a number. Of course, this must be a military base. She recalled the guards wore military uniforms. The president would have access to any base he needed. Come on, girl, bite the bullet and get this over with. Turning back to the building she walked to the door and realized it was locked. She pounded on the door with her fist. One of the guards, apparently waiting for her return, opened it immediately. Walking back into the dining room, the president remained seated exactly as she had left him, his plate almost empty.

  “Fine. You win,” Mara said sitting back down. She eyed the plate she had abandoned earlier. “As soon as I finish eating, we’re going to get on with this, and then you’re going to send me home.” Mara forked a large shrimp with determination and popped it into her mouth.

  Eight

  In a mind-numbing daze, Alex drove the short distance from his office to the Riverside Inn on Magnolia Ave. The midrange priced motel wasn’t the worst or the most run down in the area, but it came close. Tall, slender palms and stout magnolias formed unique shadows cast by the quarter moon brightening the relatively smog-free night sky.

  The inn occupied the lot between Ralph’s Drug store and Carl’s Jr., a popular fast-food hamburger joint in Riverside. The white-stucco motel, garnished with a red Spanish tiled roof, blended well with the design of other businesses in the area. The main lobby was centrally located between two wings of the motel. A hallway accessible from the lobby, led to the rooms on the bottom floor, while the two upper levels were accessible from the outside stairs.

  Alex parked his truck and walked into the lobby like a man on a mission. A young Latino sat at the front desk protected by bulletproof glass. The clerk wore a white button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up to reveal muscular forearms covered in tattoos. His baggy black pants hung low, but not as low as the style dictated. He looked at Alex when he entered the lobby, but his gaze diverted back to the cell phone in his hand.

  An elderly couple watched the local news on a large screen television in the sitting area to the right of the front desk. Alex glanced in their direction, always observant of his surroundings.

  The desk clerk lowered his phone when Alex reached the glass that separated the youth from the rest of the world. “May I help you?” The young man’s gaze returned to his phone.

  “Perhaps,” Alex said. “Who’s registered to room 222?”

  “I’m sorry, but I can’t give out that information,” he said without looking up.

  Alex’s chest rose as he inhaled. “I’m supposed to meet someone in room 222, but I’d like to know who I’m meeting first.”

  Peeling his eyes away from his phone, he squinted at Alex. “Show me a picture ID.”

  Alex pulled his wallet from his back pocket. Thrusting his ID through the half-moon opening at the bottom on the glass, he frowned with impatience.

  Undaunted by the gesture, the clerk’s eyes glazed over as they skimmed the ID. He turned to the counter behind him and retrieved a white envelope. After he pushed it through the glass with nothing more to say, the young man focused his attention once again on his phone.

  For a moment, Alex stared at the envelope without moving. His name was neatly written on the outside. Turning it over, he opened the back flap and found a keycard for room 222. Leaning closer to the glass, Alex asked, “Excuse me, who paid for the room?”

  Staring at Alex as if he had two heads, the clerk said, “Couldn’t tell you. Someone from a travel agency called and reserved the room. They said to put a keycard in an envelope with your name on it and give it to you when you showed up.”

  “What agency?”

  “Uh, Global Travel, I think.”

  Alex recalled the worldwide travel agency. Their commercials depicted beautiful couples running along white sandy beaches, hiking through rain forests, or strolling along the Great Wall of China. “Thanks.” Alex turned to walk out the lobby door.

  Outside, he turned right, walked halfway down the length of the wing, and then took the stairs to the second floor. When he reached the landing, the sign on the wall indicated that rooms 200–224 were to the left and rooms 225–250 were to the right. Alex reached inside his jacket and removed his Colt M1911 from his side holster. The magazine reassured his readiness for whatever might arise. Smiling at the weapon he said, “Hello Baby, you’re looking mighty fine tonight.” Holding the gun down next to his leg, he continued slowly toward room 222. When he reached the door, he inserted the keycard into the slot and removed it. The light on the lock flashed green. He pressed down on the handle, easing the door open an inch at a time until he could reach inside and flip the light switch mounted on the door’s metal frame. The minute the light filled the room, he burst through the open door, sweeping the room with his weapon trained, ready to defend himself. The room appeared empty. He crept to the closed bathroom door. Reaching for the door handle, he rotated it as if waiting to hear the click of a combination lock. With a powerful thrust, he shoved the door inward. Clear. Alex dropped his arms to his side and exhaled.

  The generic motel room housed two double beds decorated with gaudy orange and yellow bedspreads, spotted with an occasional cigarette burn. A large painting with snow-capped mountains hung on the nicotine-yellow wall behind the beds. The cheap gold frame looked as if it had several years’ worth of dust caked on it. The dated citrus-colored shag carpet and pale-yellow and green drapes made Alex shudder. The strong pine scent failed to disguise decades of spoiled food, stale smoke, cheap booze, and sloppy sex.

  Glancing around the room, Alex’s gaze fell upon a manila envelope propped against the pillow on one of the beds. He returned his gun to its holster and lifted the envelope. Turning it over to examine the back, he balanced the parcel in his gloved hand to judge its weight. Light, no bulges, and thin, he would have sworn it was empty. He put the envelope to his nose and sniffed to detect any suspicious odors. Alex walked over to the draped window, tossed the large envelope on the round table, and sat. He bent the metal prongs to open the flap and slid his hand inside to remove the contents.

  A bright-yellow sticky note on top of the stapled pages demanded his foremost attention. Thought you might find this an interesting read. The answers you seek are in Arkansas. Good luck.

  Alex yanked off the note. His eyes widened when he realized he was looking at the manifest f
or Flight 1286. Flipping the first page over, he shivered as chills ran down his spine. The words on the page dismantled his nerves. His eyes unfocused, he froze, unable to move, unable to catch a breath.

  Nine

  After dinner, Dodger cleared the plates away. Mara and the president took steaming cups of coffee back into the office. She sat on the couch and President Riley took the chair across from her.

  Settling into the cushions, she said, “Okay, shoot. Tell me why this secret location is so important and how you think I’m going to be able to help you.”

  The president placed his mug on the table between them. “May I call you Mara?”

  She shrugged. “Sure.”

  “Thank you, and please, call me Richard,” he said.

  She inclined her head in his direction. “Fine.”

  Brushing his hand over his face, he inhaled deeply. “A few years ago, Dr. Foster made a groundbreaking discovery. Truly fascinating. Have you ever heard of telomeres?”

  Mara shook her head. “No. What are they?”

  “I’m not a biologist, but I’ll explain it as best I can in layman terms. Our bodies are made up of cells and the nuclei of these cells contain twenty-three pairs of chromosomes. At the tip of each chromosomal arm is something known as telomeres.” He paused to look at her.

  Feeling as though he was waiting for a response, Mara said, “O—kay.”

  The president stood and started to pace. Mara detected excitement in his eyes and his walk. Still, she covered her mouth to stifle a yawn as he continued.

  “You see, cells divide constantly to produce new cells and replace old ones. Each chromosome has two chromatids, and the telomeres cap each end of the chromatids. When cells divide, the chromatids split apart and replicate. Unfortunately, with each division, the telomeres become shorter and shorter until they reach a critical point where the cells can no longer divide. This means that our molecular clock winds down and no new cells can be produced. In other words, we grow old, our bodies fail, we get diseases, and eventually we die.”

  Those were the last words Mara heard before she drifted peacefully to sleep.

  Ten

  Mara’s face pressed against the back of the couch. She felt a dribble of drool spill from the corner of her mouth. At first, she couldn’t remember where she was; however, with increased wakefulness, the memories flooded her mind. Groaning, she turned over. A painful twinge shot across her back and shoulder. She rubbed her neck and sat up. Rolling her head from side to side to loosen the muscles, she noticed a blanket had been placed over her. Her mouth felt dry and her teeth felt hairy.

  Hot coffee came to mind, but more than that, she needed to pee. How do I keep getting myself into these messes? Throwing the cover off, she rose and walked to the door and opened it to peek out. The hallway was deserted. As if on cue, Dodger popped his head out of the dining room door smiling broadly. “Good morning, Ms. Mara. Can I interest you in a cup of coffee?”

  Shifting from one foot to another, she said, “Oh God, yes, but can you please point me to the little girl’s room first?”

  “Certainly. Follow me.” Dodger exited the dining room and led her down the corridor. At the end, they made a left to the door marked Ladies.

  Pointing, Dodger said, “Inside, you will find a shower, towels, and everything you need to start your morning, except for my delicious coffee. You will have to come back to the dining room for that.” Smiling broadly, he bowed before walking in the direction they had come.

  “Thank you,” Mara called to him as he disappeared around the corner.

  Inside, the large bathroom was contemporary and immaculately clean, not the kind of stinky sterile clean of institutionalized restrooms. The walls were covered with sky-blue ceramic tiles, and an elegantly curved wall separated the shower from the rest of the room. A large silver-framed mirror hung over a double vanity decorated in blue and white tile. A sky-blue commode sat behind another elegantly curved blue-tiled wall, this one extending only halfway up.

  In a rush, Mara unzipped her pants. Relieved, she walked to the counter to wash her hands when she noticed an array of toiletries, toothpaste, and toothbrushes of varying brands. Colorful soaps, lotions and creams, shampoos, conditioners, razors, and shaving lotions dotted the countertop. At the end of the counter, her suitcase rested on a luggage stand. She shook her head in disbelief. All her clothes lay neatly packed just as she had left them. Placing a crisp pair of jeans, pale-yellow top, and fresh lingerie on the vanity, she selected jasmine shampoo and conditioner, body wash, and headed to the shower. The dinner plate-sized showerhead produced a luscious rain of toasty-warm water.

  Near rapture, she considered how she would write this experience into her current novel. Her heroine, Alex Strange, would find it heavenly. Giggling to herself, she imagined that the male version of Alex Strange would find it enjoyable too. Mara itched to write and hoped she would be able to get back to it soon. The past twenty-four hours had certainly provided enough material to keep her going for a long time. Writing while on vacation appeared to be tentative, at least until her present situation changed.

  Clean, refreshed, and feeling like a new woman, Mara glowed as she walked into the dining room. The change of clothes and shower lifted her mood, even the kink in her neck disappeared. A hot cup of coffee would be the icing on the cake.

  Dodger walked in with a tray that held several large mugs, a carafe of coffee, muffins, and fresh fruit. “Here you go, Ms. Mara,” he said placing the tray on the table.

  “Thank you. May I call you Dodger?”

  “Certainly, it is my name after all.” He smiled at her while filling her mug with coffee.

  “Oh, I thought perhaps it was a nickname.”

  His shoulders shook as he chuckled. “Oh no. It is my legal name. I chose it when I came to America.”

  “Why didn’t you keep your real name?”

  “Because, I did not know my real name,” he said softly as he placed a variety of butters and spreads on the table.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.” Mara took a sip of her coffee.

  “No need to apologize. It is in the past.”

  “Where are you from?”

  “I am from Vietnam.”

  “How did you come to be in America?”

  “I was very fortunate indeed. In 1975, during the Fall of Saigon, I was standing in the middle of the street crying, you see, because I became separated from my mother and sister. I was only a toddler. A soldier grabbed me before a large tank ran me over.” Dodger spread his arms wide. “He and another soldier looked for my family but were not successful. They took me to a staging area where refugees were being flown to safety. We boarded a helicopter with other soldiers and refugees who were fleeing the turmoil. Eventually we came to America. He called me Dodger, because I wore a Los Angeles Dodger’s cap another G.I. had given me.” He pointed to the cap on his head.

  “Were you ever reunited with your family?”

  Lowering his head to glance at the floor, he said, “No, never. But I have family now.”

  “Did you keep in touch with the soldier who rescued you?” Mara asked as she carefully buttered her muffin.

  “Oh yes,” he said with a wide beam. “I see him every day. He is President Riley.”

  Mara’s face went slack.

  “My name is Dodger Riley. President Riley legally adopted me when we came to America.”

  “That’s an amazing story. Why didn’t any of this come out in his campaign?”

  From the door a voice interrupted, “Because, I wanted to keep Dodger’s past in the past. None of that has anything to do with my job as president.”

  Mara’s face warmed with embarrassment when she realized President Riley had heard the conversation between her and Dodger.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop,” he added as he entered the room.

  “No, I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to pry. I was just curious.”

  The presid
ent sat at the head of the table. Dodger placed a mug of coffee in front of him.

  “Thank you, Dodger.” He turned to Mara. “It’s a story I prefer to keep private. I don’t want people making this into anything it isn’t. Dodger is part of my family and has been since the day I took him off the streets of Saigon. I protect him like any father would protect a child.”

  Mara looked at the half-eaten muffin on her plate and contemplated his words. “Why does he behave like your servant?”

  “Dodger is a very proud man. He feels he owes me for saving his life, though of course he doesn’t. He feels serving me is his way of repaying me. I’ve tried to encourage him to do something more rewarding and worthwhile, but he refuses.”

  “Well, it’s a beautiful story,” Mara said.

  “Thank you.” The president took a bagel and slathered it with cream cheese. “I hope you slept well.”

  Clearing her throat, she said, “Yes, I’m sorry I fell asleep while you were talking. The last thing I remember was something about telomeres.”

  “No worries. I’m afraid I’m not as adept in speaking on the subject as I’d like to be. I find the subject dry and boring also. Believe me, I wouldn’t be that interested if it wasn’t so important.”

  A light tap sounded on the door. Michael Porter peeked inside. “I’m sorry to interrupt, sir, but you have an urgent call.”

  Rising from his chair, the president said, “Will you please excuse me? Duty calls.”

  Mara nodded. “Of course.”

  When the president left the room, Michael limped to the table and poured himself a cup of coffee. He took the seat opposite Mara. Looking at the dark liquid as if it would reveal secrets, he said, “I’m sorry we had to meet under these circumstances. I hope you won’t hold it against me.”