A/N: For GUEST. Additional disclaimer : the author cannot be held responsible for any accidents or injuries caused during the reading of this story but ... author does small happy dance as she realizes she must be getting better at writing suspense! ... thanks so much for reading and reviewing. And now for ...
PART TWO
Chapter 8
Adam dragged his suitcase towards the exit. He felt as though he was on auto-pilot and he could have sworn that his suitcase was getting heavier with every step. The doors swished open and he followed the large group of weary, red-eyed passengers out through the arrivals gate. As the crowds thinned Adam looked up and ground to a halt. The last thing he had expected was a welcoming committee. Slowly he walked up to them.
"Adam!" To his surprise Jo threw her arms around him. "Are you okay? You look exhausted."
"I'm … er … okay. Thanks Jo."
"You're sure?" He nodded. Quietly she asked. "How is he?"
"They're taking good care of him." Jo looked at him hard searching his face. She didn't like what she saw but she didn't say anything. It wasn't the time or the place. Jo turned to the man standing behind her. "Adam, this is Special Agent Walsh of the FBI." The saturnine looking man with a buzz-cut wearing a dark suit nodded as he looked Adam up and down but he didn't say anything nor extend a hand. Jo bristled at his rudeness. "And this is Jeff Hamilton of Interpol, our new liaison officer." The second man was as fair as the other was dark. He broke into a broad smile and shook Adam's hand enthusiastically.
"I can't thank you enough for your help Mr Ross. I realize that you must be exhausted but time is of the essence." Adam stared at Jeff Hamilton in surprise taking in the mismatched slacks, blazer and loud tie. The man looked more like a used car salesman than an Interpol agent. "I know it's asking a lot after what you've been through but every detail is vital. Perhaps you would be so kind as to go through everything you know with us en route."
"En route … ?" Adam looked around the group and their suitcases. "Why where are we going?"
Jo smiled as she grabbed the handle of her suitcase. "New Orleans."
"New Orleans? Why are we going to New Orleans?"
Adam cringed slightly as Special Agent Walsh of the FBI answered, his voice deadly serious. "Because in less than twenty-four hours Mr Ross the Vice President of the United States will be landing there to open a multi-million dollar urban renewal project. Now we have a plane waiting for us. So if you will please hurry." He spun round on one foot and strode away. Hamilton, and Jo threw Adam an apologetic look and turned to follow him.
Adam was left standing open-mouthed for a second until he realized he was expected to go too. He grabbed his suitcase and ran after them. "New Orleans . Right, of course. Sure why not?" Idly he wondered if they would have time to see Stella.
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Forty minutes later they were in the air. Adam stared at the inside of the jet in amazement. He had never been in a private jet. A young woman with curly copper-coloured hair teetered down the aisle with a tray and handed out coffee in elegant porcelain cups. "Just call if you need anything else." She smiled at Adam and disappeared back to the galley at the rear of the plane.
Adam sipped the coffee gratefully and took a large sugary pastry from the tray that Hamilton pushed towards him across the small table sandwiched between their seats. Special Agent Walsh merely looked a little disdainful and declined the sugary treats. Adam didn't care. He was tired and he was hungry and more than anything he wanted to know why he was sitting in a private jet on the way to New Orleans when he should be at home taking a shower and a long nap. As soon as the thought entered his head, Adam's stomach flipped as, in fact, he realized that he didn't want to be at home at all. He realized that he wanted to be back in Paris with Mac and Bruno and Eloise. He hoped that they were looking after Mac. He knew he could trust Bruno and Eloise, and Dr Bertrand and even those two male nurses who he had discovered were gentle and kind despite looking like two street brawlers. But Adam felt responsible and he had hated having to leave Mac there even though he had had no choice.
"Adam?" Adam looked up at Jo. He hadn't realized he had been day-dreaming and now they were all looking at him expectantly as though he had to explain himself but for reasons he couldn't explain he felt angry. Angry that they clearly knew more than he did, angry that they felt the need to drag him off one flight onto another, angry that they had dragged him away from looking after Mac. And more than anything angry that he had let Elsa Rossi get to Mac right under his nose when he had promised. He had promised. He felt tears sting the back of his eyes and as he looked at Walsh he felt the anger well up inside him like water about to burst a dam.
Walsh didn't hide his disdain or his impatience. "So are you going to tell us what this Mac Taylor supposedly knows about all this?"
The dam burst.
"No I am not. Not until you tell me why we are on this plane?" He glared at Walsh. "Why are we going to New Orleans? What does this have to do with the Vice President or multi-million dollar projects or why Elsa Rossi tortured Mac Taylor half to death to extract information from him?" Jo stared at Adam in horror. Never had she seen him lose his cool like that and speak so fiercely or so forcefully. She was both dumb-founded at his sudden outburst and at the harsh words he had used. Tortured … half to death? Fortunately Hamilton intervened.
"Quite right Mr Ross. I apologise. Let me update you on what we know and then perhaps you would be so good as to … er … fill in the blanks so to speak." Hamilton looked pointedly at Walsh who leaned back in his seat sullenly. Adam realized that despite their appearances, Jeff Hamilton was in charge of this particular operation and Walsh was reporting to him not the other way round.
Adam found himself letting out the breath he hadn't realized he had been holding. He smiled and nodded gratefully to Hamilton. "Thank you and … please call me Adam."
Hamilton leaned back in his seat and rested his elbows on the arms of the seat. He steepled his fingers. "As you know we are very keen to get our hands on Elsa Rossi. We have been looking very closely into her business and personal life. Apart from her communications to members of the Forum, she has also provided several other people with sensitive information. One of these men is Jacob Lyle. He is … for want of a better word … a religious zealot. He has quite a following and is a very rich and powerful man. We have reason to believe that he has been buying information from Elsa Rossi for some time." He took a breath. "Now our esteemed colleagues here at the FBI have been keeping a close eye on Mr Lyle and they believe that he is plotting an attack against the Vice President to raise awareness of their cause and to rain down divine retribution on what they perceive to be some of his more liberal policies."
"Why the Vice President, not the President?" Adam asked.
"They were once acquainted." Walsh spoke quietly. "We think there's an element of personal vendetta there too. Also the security for the Vice President isn't as ..." he searched for the right word. "... intense as for a presidential visit. He's an easier target."
Lieutenant Hamilton nodded. "Tomorrow the Vice President is visiting the Greenacres project in New Orleans. He will arrive by helicopter, be driven to open the local community centre and inaugurate a new hospital wing. He will lunch with local business men and city officials then visit the new school before leaving for Washington. Now I am sure you are aware the Vice President's helicopter is known as Marine Two but with only hearsay and suspicion we can hardly call off a major political event. We need facts."
Jo leaned forward. "After you called, I got in contact with the FBI and Interpol and told them what you told me. The FBI got a team to New Orleans to pick up Elsa Rossi as she got off the flight but ..." She sighed. "... she must have somehow anticipated that and she gave them the slip. They ended up following a double – she was dressed the same as Elsa. She even had a bandage across her nose." Jo looked irritated beyond words. "They lost her."
Hamilton nodded. "Given that you mentioned Marine Two, clearly Elsa Rossi was trying to find out something about the Vice President's visit and it seems logical that the information is for Jacob Lyle but we don't understand how Detective Taylor fits in or why she ...er … used him to get that information. And as for this Jonas and Wild Card ..." Hamilton looked blank. "So we're hoping you can help fit this together for us."
Adam nodded. His mind was whirling. Without realizing what he was doing, images sorted themselves into sequences, links formed between people and events, words that he thought were unrelated slotted themselves into place and a picture began to emerge. "So that's what he meant." Walsh looked as though he was about to say something but Hamilton raised a hand to stop him. He could see that he had to give Adam time. He knew that Adam Ross held the key to what Jacob Lyle was planning and why he had paid Elsa Rossi to do what she had done.
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Arthur Wescott looked at himself in the mirror and fastened a diamond studded pin to his silk tie. He ran a hand over his neatly combed and lacquered hair. He peered at the mirror to make sure that the black dye had done it's job. He wasn't quite ready to admit to going grey yet. Satisfied he did up the buttons on his jacket. He was about to dine with the finest that the local business community had to offer, not to mention city and state officials, all present to congratulate him on bringing the multi-million dollar project to their city. They would all benefit from the investment and the extra trade it would bring in and none more so than Arthur Wescott. He stood to make a large fortune. He twisted sideways to check the cut of his Italian suit and smiled to himself. He adjusted the cuff of his shirt and twisted the ornate antique ring on his finger. Perfect.
The doorbell rang and he looked at his watch. It was a little early for the cab he had called. Irritated he quickly made for the stairs with the intention of making them wait. He had ordered the cab for five-thirty and it was only five-twenty. As he flung open the door, his mouth dropped open. He wasn't sure whether it was because the woman standing there was pointing a gun at his chest or because of the large white bandage taped across her nose.
"Back inside the house, Mr Wescott," she demanded with a clipped British accent.
"Who are you? What do you want?" he stammered.
"Go through to your study please," she ordered flicking the gun a little to her right. Arthur Wescott looked nervously at the gun and the woman holding it. There was something in her eyes that told him she wouldn't hesitate to use it so he did as he was told. He backed away and she stepped inside locking the door behind her.
"What do you want?"
"I want you to go to your desk and sit down." They walked into the large, ornate study with it's oak panelling and it's highly-polished desk and leather chairs. Wescott complied and seated himself at his desk. Elsa Rossi sat down opposite him and crossed her legs. The muzzle of the gun never left his chest. She placed an envelope on the desk and gestured for him to open it. Wescott pulled the envelope towards him and opened it. His breath caught in his throat as he saw a picture of himself next to a handsome young man with bright blue eyes, soft curly hair and an engaging smile. He looked at the woman opposite him.
"Who are you?"
"That is none of your concern. The only thing that you need to be concerned about is whether or not that picture is published in tomorrow's paper along with the appropriate headlines." She emphasized the word 'appropriate.'
Arthur Wescott paled and closed his eyes. "What do you want?"
Elsa Rossi smiled and placed a small red lacquered box on the table.
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