“I’m not hungry.”
“Then I hope you find my offering irresistible.”
Jack got up. Her legs were a lot better, but she had a hard time getting to the door; her eyes were mere slits because everything was so damn blinding white. She eventually managed to find and slide the little panel, and she stuck her hand in. The feel of steel surprised her. “What are you up to?” Jack asked, and pulled the gun in: a SIG Sauer from the feel of it.
“I want you to kill that man.”
“No! Please, I haven’t done anything,” the man pleaded as his shaking intensified. “She’s crazy. Please, don’t—”
Jack turned to him. “Shut the fuck up.” She looked back at the camera. “What’s that going to prove?”
“That you still have a taste for it.”
“I don’t kill for free. What’s in it for me?”
“Better accommodations,” TQ replied, “and a meeting with me to talk about your future.”
Jack lifted the SIG Sauer and the man struggled to his feet, begging for his life. Her eyes still on the camera, Jack fired one shot, and he dropped to the floor and lay still.
Applause came over the loudspeaker. “Brava.” Then the room filled with TQ’s cold laughter. “For someone with compromised vision, you sure got him where it counts.”
“I always execute between the eyes.”
“And blindfolded?”
“On instinct.”
“How lovely.”
Jack looked in the direction of the man. The wall behind him was a blurry red. She walked up to him and fired one more time in the same spot.
“I’m sure he was dead the first time.”
“This one was for kicks.” Jack wanted to spit at his sorry ass but refrained.
“We’re going to get along swimmingly.”
“Now get me the fuck out of here,” she said, desperate to use the bathroom. “I don’t want to be around when he starts to stink.”
*
Bath, Maine
Once she’d signed off with Reno, Shield notified the Secret Service she was taking some time off, booked a flight, then caught a two-hour nap. She was dressed and en route to Dulles Airport to catch her plane by six, before the president even woke up. After a two-hour flight and fifteen-minute ride in her rental car, she arrived at the sprawling Bath Country Club, a public course busy with early morning golfers despite temperatures in the low twenties.
She noted the security camera mounted over the main entrance and others in the lobby. At the main sign-in desk, she asked to speak to the manager, and within a couple of minutes, an athletic-looking guy in his late thirties, wearing khakis and a V-neck sweater embroidered with the club logo, came out of a back office and asked how he could be of help.
Shield introduced herself and flashed him her White House credentials. She told him she was there to check out the area for a possible future visit from the president.
“We are delighted President Thomas would consider visiting us,” he said. “What happened with her husband here was most unfortunate.”
“Yes, it was. I’m sure you did everything in your power to accommodate the situation.”
“Of course.”
She glanced up at the lobby camera. “Do you have security cameras everywhere?”
“Of course,” he said again. “The entrance, bar, restaurant, here, and several on the course itself.”
“Good. Do you mind if I take a look at the feeds in your monitor room?”
“Not at all. Follow me, Ms. Kennedy.”
Shield was taken to a small office dominated by three rows of monitors mounted to the wall and spare CCTV cameras and related equipment stacked on a shelf. A young man was seated behind a desk, his glance darting from one monitor to the next.
“I doubt the president will want to golf,” Shield said. “Perhaps a bit too premature still.”
“I understand,” the manager replied.
Shield looked closely at the monitors displaying images from the course. “Where exactly did Mr. Thomas collapse?”
“Right here.” He pointed to one of the monitors.
“Do you keep digital records?”
“Usually only for a few weeks, but in Mr. Thomas’s case, we kept it.”
“Why?”
“I don’t mean to sound insensitive, but it’s not usual to have a first man die…I mean collapse, at our club.”
“You kept it for memorabilia reasons?”
He looked chagrined. “We also didn’t know if the FBI would want to take a look at it.”
“Did they?”
“No.”
“It was a straightforward situation,” she said. “Mr. Thomas was a heart patient, after all.”
“Indeed.”
“Did you notice anything out of the ordinary that day?”
“Such as?” He looked at her suspiciously.
“In light of the attack on President Thomas, we want to make sure everything runs smoothly. I have to know if we need to eliminate anything or anyone as a possible threat.” Her response didn’t really answer his question, but when it came to Thomas’s security after the attack, everyone jumped to attention.
“Of course. I understand.” The manager cleared his throat. “Such a wonderful woman. She used to come here with her husband before her election. It’s horrible when things like this happen.” He looked skeptical.
“So, nothing out of the ordinary?”
“Like I told the FBI.” He touched his nose. “Mr. Thomas arrived around noon, had coffee and lunch with his three friends, and an hour or so later, all of them left for the course.”
“And the restaurant is monitored, you said.”
“Of course. These cameras, right here.” He pointed to a quartet of monitors in the right corner. The club dining room had twenty or so tables, a third of them currently filled with golfers having breakfast or coffee.
“And I assume you kept the footage of those as well?”
He looked away, embarrassed. “Indeed.” Did the guy ever use any other words except indeed and of course?
“I would like copies from that day of every area he visited.”
The man lifted his eyebrow.
“I, too, am guilty of morbid curiosity.” Shield tried to sound a bit embarrassed at the admission. The man smiled and Shield continued. “But I want them primarily to study the area.”
“Of course. I understand.”
“Do you mind if I take a look at the footage while you make copies?”
“Well…I—”
“For practical purposes,” she said. “If I have any questions, I can ask while I’m here.”
He seemed to consider it a few moments. “Please, follow me.”
The manager took Shield to his office and sat her at his desk. He retrieved a DVD from the bookcase behind her and inserted it into the drive in his computer, then pulled up a chair for himself. “This is a comprehensive copy you can have.”
The footage was pretty boring for the first forty minutes, with Jeffrey Thomas at the restaurant drinking coffee with his friends and seemingly enjoying himself. He took a pill and had lunch. Shield was about to press Forward when she caught a slight change in Thomas’s expression. He went from smiling and talking to silent and withdrawn, his eyes and mouth tight with worry or pain; Shield couldn’t be sure which. “Didn’t you notice his discomfort when you viewed the footage?”
“I did.”
Shield backed up the copy and hit Pause. “It’s clear he took his pill before he ate.”
The manager moved in closer to look. Shield let the footage continue and noticed Thomas grimace after he took a good sip of coffee. He said something to his friends and took another, smaller sip. This time his expression was less sour, and he continued to drink from the mug throughout lunch.
“Do you have a list of people on duty that day?” she asked.
“Yes, but why?”