Thomas was never so glad to see his former secretary, who stood awaiting his arrival when he deplaned at Dulles International Airport. A petite redhead, she stood on tiptoe at the far end of the departure/arrival waiting area attempting to get his attention.
With LJ and Ariel each grasping a hand and baby Zack cradled in the pouch around his chest, he had his hands full. He smiled gratefully when Myra lifted Ariel into her arms and took LJ by the hand.
"Mr. Renquist. I never thought I would see a day when you were covered in children." She laughed softly.
"These beautiful little bundles are my grandchildren, Myra," he informed her, his chest puffing out a bit with pride as he introduced each of the children to her.
"They are darling, Sir," she said as they went in search of his luggage. "I made the arrangements you requested."
"No problems?"
"None. They were only too happy to accommodate you. And I will be happy to stay with the children while you conduct your business," she offered.
"Thank you, Myra. I knew I could count on you," he replied. She had always been a loyal friend, as well as employee, and he trusted her implicitly.
--
LJ's eyes widened as their car approached the large domed building. He saw pictures of it in the books Mama and Daddy showed him. Daddy said it was the White House. It was white; he had to admit. There was something important about it, but he just could not remember.
Once inside, a former underling, Derek Hardy, greeted Thomas. "Thomas! So good to see you! And...you brought ...?"
Thomas laughed. He never talked about his family, so it was no surprise that his grandchildren presented quite the picture. "These are my grandchildren. Myra, would you take them to..."
"The Lincoln room," she replied and nodded. "Come along, kids. We'll go visit the kitchen first and get those little tummies full." She smiled at Thomas as she lifted little Zack from his arms before leaving him to his business.
"What brings you here, Thomas?" Derek asked while trying to hide his nervousness.
"I need to meet with the BigGuy, Derek," he replied as they strode through the halls toward the business end of the White House.
"No can do, Thomas. You no longer have the clearance," Derek insisted, stopping in front of his office.
"Trust me...clearance I've got. Your permission, I don't need."
Derek watched as his former superior strode without pause into the office of the Director of the CIA, Mitchell Wingard...Thomas' replacement.
It did not take long for Derek's intercom to come to life and Wingard demand for him to join them. He closed the door behind him and sat in the chair next to Thomas, while Wingard reclined superiorly behind his desk.
"What brings you here?" Wingard asked coldly.
Thomas saw little need for beating around the bush. "A little birdie told me that someone has called a hit on a former operative. I want to know who and why."
"Even if that were something we did, you are in no position to demand anything." Wingard sat forward and leaned his elbows on his desk. "How your sorry ass even got past the gates of this building, I'll never know."
The office door opening interrupted them. "Now you know," the man who entered the room informed Wingard.
"Mr. President!" Wingard cried in surprise as everyone in the room rose to their feet.
"Please gentlemen, be seated," he said, indicating they should sit. "Now, Mitchell...I believe Thomas asked you a question."
"What's your concern in this Renquist?" Wingard demanded.
"You putz. You know damn well that Frank Donovan is married to my daughter. He's the father to my three grandchildren. Do I need a higher concern than that?" Thomas demanded. "Now, you sanctimonious son-of-a-bitch...you tell me why a hitter has been sent after my son?" My son. That came out so naturally. And it felt right. He never thought, after the way his daughter had grown so detached from him, he would ever have a family. Now, he would protect them with whatever resources he could muster, even if it meant pulling in an old friend and now President of the United States.
Wingard made no attempt to answer. He refused to be bullied by the man whose former position he now held.
"Answer me, Mitchell. Who ordered the hit on Frank Donovan?!"
"Tell him, Mitchell," The President ordered.
"No, I won't betray that information, but I agree that it needed to be done. Donovan has become a loose cannon. He refuses to acknowledge his former brethren. He refuses to provide assistance when it is vital to national security," Wingard explained.
"Well, now. If that isn't the biggest pile of crap I've ever heard," Thomas replied indignantly. "The only reason he would refuse you if he felt it was no longer his duty. He's not your operative any longer. Are you insisting he should do ghost work when you deem it in your best interest?"
When neither Wingard nor Derek replied, he continued. "I will go on the assumption that you ordered the hit on my son, Wingard. You're just stupid enough to do something like that. Call it off, you bastard. Call back your operative before my son is killed. And if my daughter or grandchildren get caught up in your sick and twisted mission...I'll take great pleasure in ripping out your heart and feeding it to you before you die."
"It...she...can't be called off," Derek stammered. "She was programmed to perform this mission. No remorse, no memory...no stopping. If the time came to activate her, there would be no going back. The mission would be carried out until the target was nullified."
Thomas slumped back into his chair. The only way to stop the hit was to stop the hitter. He had to find this woman before she hit her mark. "Who is she?" He whispered.
Derek handed Thomas the file. "I'm sorry, Thomas. I had no idea her involvement."
Thomas gasped in horror when he saw the face of the woman programmed to assassinate Frank Donovan. Oh dear Lord...fate is a twisted mistress.
************
to be continued...