Emily eased the car out onto the street and accelerated. She didn't like the idea of having ordinary civilians help out with a case, especially one that involved a presidential assassination attempt.
After deliberating on the issue for a minute, she nodded. "Okay, do it. But remember, this has to stay quiet. No one can know they're doing this for me or the president. Understood?"
"Absolutely. All the kids need to know is what we're looking for. I won't tell them anything else."
Emily sighed. "Let's just hope they can find what we're looking for before anything else happens."
Chapter 21
Yuri watched the two Americans leave the Seward museum and return to their car. He'd turned on his car's motor three times while they were inside just to warm the interior. The gauge on the dashboard said the temperature outside was only 18 degrees Fahrenheit.
He hated the cold.
Growing up in Russia, he'd spent much of his life in sub-freezing temperatures. One of the benefits of working for the government was that he got out of the country to warmer climates, occasionally even to tropical places, though those were few and far between.
Some people thought that since he'd spent his life in the cold, he would be used to it. The truth was he never grew accustomed to it. As a child, seeing his mother and sister freezing on what passed for a bed in their tiny Moscow apartment had only served to build up his distaste for winter.
There were times when snow would blow through cracks in the windows and form little piles on the creaky wooden floor. After the fall of communism, things didn't get better for many years. Food was scarce, heating fuel was even more so, and no one had much hope for anything better. And then there was his dad's reckless spending on booze.
The Western world had applauded the Russian people for dismantling the Soviet Union. It had welcomed Russia into the family of nations with open arms and promises of riches and prosperity.
Those two things never came for most Russian citizens.
Now, both of his parents were dead, and his sister was lost on the streets of Moscow. She'd never had a chance: a poor, pretty blonde girl with a toned body made an easy target for the city's seedy underworld.
The Americans' car stopped as it was backing out of its parking spot, and Yuri's attention snapped back to the moment. He kept facing forward toward a small cinema at the end of the street, carefully eying the other vehicle.
Why had the driver stopped so abruptly? Did one of the Americans forget something inside the museum? Or worse, had he been spotted?
Yuri knew that if he panicked and took off, that could send a signal to the Americans that he was watching them. So, he sat perfectly still and waited. After nearly a minute, the other car pulled out of the parking area and drove away.
When the Americans were out of sight, he picked up a tablet from the passenger seat and pressed a button. The screen flashed to life, and after a couple of seconds a map appeared with a blinking blue dot in the middle.
The dot moved down one of the streets and hung a right, heading toward the interstate highway.
The tracking device was working perfectly. That would make following the Americans much easier. The question was, what did they find in the museum? And why did they leave after such a short visit? Yuri didn't need to know where they were headed. That answer would come soon enough.
He started the car and was about to shift into gear when he noticed the dot on the screen make another right. It was coming his direction.
Yuri frowned. Why would they come back this way?
The blinking dot grew closer. He considered pulling out onto the street and driving away. He calmed his panicked thoughts as his training had taught, and picked up the tablet once more. Staring at the screen as if watching a movie, he only watched the Americans drive by with his peripheral vision.
Yuri never saw their faces and whether or not the other two were looking at him. For the moment, he didn't care. He just focused on the tablet.
A moment later they were gone, turning back onto one of the other streets and disappearing from view.
Yuri waited until they'd turned again toward the interstate before he pulled out onto the street and drove off.
He swallowed hard, driving the lump in his throat back down into his gut. His chest rose slowly, taking in a deep breath. "Stay calm, Yuri," he told himself. "They don't know you're here or who you even are. Just complete the mission."
At the street where the Americans turned right, Yuri hung a left onto a side street and drove until he found an old church. He turned into the parking lot and steered his vehicle back behind the building — out of sight from the main road.
There, he waited and watched the tablet as the blue dot circled back around through the downtown square one more time.
"Stupid Americans," he thought. "So predictable."
The blue dot passed by where he'd been sitting for the last several hours and then made the same turns again, only this time the other car finally stayed on course down Highway 20.
Yuri waited patiently for another five minutes until he was certain the Americans weren't coming back around again and then took off on the same route. If they'd found something at the Seward museum, he didn't know. Sooner or later, he'd make his move, but only when the timing was right.
Chapter 22
Drew Porter took a bite of his Reuben. He stared out the foggy window of his favorite DC deli as he slowly chewed the corned beef, sauerkraut, and rye. He'd released his men to go and do as they pleased until they heard from him. They understood that could mean hours or months. With this particular mission, his only request was that they stick around the area and not wander off too far.
Porter couldn't explain it, but he had a feeling he and his team would be needed again soon.
The television on the wall in the corner was stuck on the national news network. The anchors had been talking about the assassination attempt pretty much nonstop since Porter walked in. They kept showing the video of the mystery woman as she tackled the president just before the bullets shattered his podium and would have surely killed him on the spot. Porter lost count of how many times they cycled that footage through.
He took a sip of his drink and swallowed the bite of sandwich before taking another.
His phone suddenly started ringing, vibrating on the table next to his plate. Porter checked the screen and shook his head. He hit the red Decline button and finished chewing his food.
A moment later, the device started ringing again. After he swallowed the next bite, Porter picked up the phone.
"Calling again so soon?" he said. "I thought you didn't need me."
"That was before I found out Sean Wyatt was still alive."
Porter flushed red. "What are you talking about?"
"Your mark? The guy you were supposed to kill? The guy you said you did kill? Turns out he's not so dead after all."
"Where did you get that information?" Porter asked after he took a long, deep breath.
"Oh, I don't know. A little birdie in Auburn, New York, called me. I was in meetings and briefings all day, so I only got the message a few minutes ago."
"Auburn?"
"Yes, Auburn. I put someone on the Seward House when I found out Wyatt was snooping around. She called and said he and his friend Schultz came in this morning to talk to the curator. Now, how do you suppose that happened? I mean, one minute, the guy is dead in a cave somewhere in North Georgia. Next thing I know, he's walking into the Seward museum. I don't suppose you have any theories as to how in the world he did it. Do you?"