The Chairman opened the door slightly. “Fine, thank you. Now if you could just clear the on-lookers, that would be greatly appreciated,” he said before shutting the door again and turning back to a very embarrassed Special Agent Clark.
Rubbing his cheek, he paused before he spoke.
“Feisty little thing, aren’t you? OK, you’ve got my attention. Why should I take this threat more seriously?”
Clark was stunned. She had fully expected a tirade from the Chairman, not a weakening of his position.
“But I hit you?” she struggled.
“You’re not the first and won’t be the last. Now, stop giving me the run-around and tell me why the Secret Service has its knickers in a twist over this threat.”
“But lots of people witnessed me hit you? The press will be all over this. I’ll have to resign.”
“You’ll do no such thing. I’ll tell them I fully deserved it, that it was a lover’s tiff. One photo of you in the press and the suggestion I was or am your lover will do wonders for my approval ratings.”
“But…”
“No buts, it’s fine. The fluff comment was out of order and more a reaction to that detestable director than to you. I apologize. Now cut the crap and tell me why they’re worried.”
“The threat came by phone, not by letter and the caller left his name and told us he had had enough of the bloody Senator from Montana. He said it was time somebody did something about the liberal piece of shit before he destroyed our great nation. He claimed to be on his way and was willing to do whatever it took to rid the country of the scumbag.”
“Nothing unusual in that, is there?”
“It’s not so much what he said, it’s the name he used.”
“What?”
“Yuri Andriev.”
The Chairman’s face went white with horror.
“You know him?” asked Clark, surprised.
“Yes. Very well. Who sent you here?”
“What?”
“Who sent you here?”
“I told you, the Director.”
“Did he personally select you?” he asked firmly.
“No, he selected my colleague Special Agent Travis who was at the elevator.”
The Chairman looked around the office. “The uniformed officers with your colleague, did you bring them with you?”
Clark considered the question. “No, they met us here. They were informed of the threat and joined us in the foyer. Why?”
The Chairman looked deep into Clark’s eyes. “Can I trust you?”
“Of course, my job is to protect you,” replied Clark, mystified as to where the Chairman was going with his questions.
“OK, from what you’ve said, my life is at risk but it’s not from Yuri Andriev.”
“But I’ve not told you who he is yet…”
“I told you, I know who he is.”
“So you know he’s the man who killed your brother?”
A bang on the door interrupted the conversation and was followed by “Sir, are you OK?”
“Fine thanks,” replied the Chairman.
“That’s Travis,” said Clark referring to the voice from behind the door.
“Special Agent Clark, your sworn duty is to protect your protectee, correct?” asked the Chairman.
“Of course.”
“And I am that protectee, yes?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I believe the greatest threats to my life are the men on the other side of this door. You have to get me out of here and to a safe location asap.”
Clark looked at him like he had completely lost his mind.
“Those men are sworn to protect you. Don’t be ridiculous! As I said, the man who’s making threats now was the man who killed your brother three years ago. He’s a Russian assas…”
“Agent Clark,” interrupted the Chairman. “You’ve not met my brother. There’s not a man on this earth who could kill him single-handedly. Yuri Andriev is the man who tried to kill my brother. My brother’s not dead. He just couldn’t continue working. If my brother contacted you it’s because somebody tried to kill him. That, I can assure you, is a very stupid thing to do. The men who know he’s alive would not attempt that for no reason. If they tried to kill him, they want to kill me.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Trust me, when you meet him, you’ll understand. You don’t mess with my brother, nor anyone he cares about. Now are you going to get me out of here or am I leaving on my own?”
Chapter 11
Sam hit the end button and threw the cell phone he had found in the speedboat into the waters of the bay and pushed the throttle forward. He didn’t look back as the last three years of his life burned fiercely behind him. Visions of his family flashed through his mind as he raced away from his past and into his history. Sam Baker had been killed for a reason and some people were going to wish he had never been reborn.
Sam knew that his own life was irrelevant. Going to the trouble of trying to kill him could mean only one thing. His brother, the illustrious Senator from Montana and according to the polls, the soon-to-be President of the United States, had unsettled some very powerful people. Although seven years younger than his famous brother, Sam had always had to watch his brother’s back. Charles Baker was a talker. He fought his battles with wit and rhetoric, much to the infuriation of previous opponents who, having been humiliated, had often turned to violence. And that was when Sam stepped in, he was the fighter.
As he neared the North Haven harbor, Sam slowed the speedboat and turned towards a small jetty that lay before the entrance to the harbor and pulled up alongside. The contents of the metal trunk had been emptied and most of it repacked into a large waterproof holdall. The rest was being worn. Sam checked that nobody was watching before slipping over the side and into the cold waters of the Atlantic Ocean. It had been years since he had donned his wetsuit and was most surprised to find it still fitted. His runs to work had done the trick and kept the mid-life spread at bay. As he slowly descended into the dark waters, he flicked his legs and the huge flippers went to work propelling him through the water with ease. The old technique hadn’t been lost and in no time, Sam found himself below the harbor wall and wondering how he was going to cover the distance between the water and the car park without being seen.
His plan was to take the assassins’ car and make it look like the four men who had hired the speedboat had simply put it back in the wrong jetty and returned to the mainland in their car. The deaths and fire at his house would look like a murder suicide and the assassin would be laid to rest alongside his family. Something Sam would sort out in due course. For now, he had other priorities.
Sam slipped off his SCUBA tank and let it drop to the ocean floor and pulled himself up and onto an empty fishing boat tethered to the harbor. He needed a diversion. Sam carefully unhooked the boat and with the boat free from its restraints, he powered the engine and thrust the throttles forward, slipping back into the water as the propellers began to turn.
As the boat slipped out of its mooring and powered out of the harbor, chaos ensued. All eyes were suddenly focused on the runaway fishing vessel as it careened towards the outer wall of the harbor. The plan had worked perfectly. Having swum to the far end of the harbor away from the action, Sam Baker slipped out of the water and, dragging his holdall, he ran across to the car park and entered the assassins’ car. The Chrysler, much to his relief,
