Page 76 of Enemy Within
Pete held up one finger and then pounded away at his keyboard again. A new page came up, a thread of messages. He scrolled to the second message. Pictures filled the thread, groups of hard-looking Russians swarming around a convoy of rugged jeeps that had seen far better days. Some of the men wore full-face black balaclavas. Everybody carried automatic rifles.
“This group of men was seen moving across Russia. First in the west by Volga, and then they reappeared on the east coast, north of Vladivostok. There are unconfirmed reports of sightings in Siberia.”
“Looks like a gang of Russian thugs.” Had Pete really lost it? Had he chased a rabbit down a crazy hole? Maybe Levi was right, and Pete really did need time off. Hell, maybe he did, too.
“Look closer.” Pete pushed the monitor across the desk and started slowly scrolling through the thread. Picture after picture came up and passed, scene after scene of dark-clad Russians clutching weapons and riding in jeeps.
And then—
“Wait!” Welby’s hand shot up.
There, striding alongside a balaclava-wearing man, his face turned to the side and cast in half shadows, wasEthan.
“You see it too?” Pete breathed. “Tell me I’m not crazy.”
Welby shook his head, back and forth, over and over. “It can’t be him.” The denial was automatic, a knee-jerk gut-check. “There are thousands of people who look alike. This must just be an uncanny double. It’s not him.”
Pete scrolled again. A new picture, Ethan turning toward the camera this time, and calling to someone behind him.
Welby hissed. He reached behind him and pulled one of Pete's chairs close, collapsing to his ass when his knees buckled.
“I thought the same thing when I saw them,” Pete said softly. He sat on the side of his desk, one leg dangling. “It couldn’t be him, I thought. Noway. Why would he be in Russia? With some kind of gang? But…” Pete swallowed. “If Lieutenant Cooper is in Alaska, hanging out on an island within spitting distance of Russia, and Ethan might beonthe east coast of Russia… I mean, it can’t be a coincidence, right?” He trailed off. “C’mon, man. Tell me I’m not losing it.”
“It’s him.” Welby clasped his hands together and fisted them in front of his mouth, covering his lips. “It’s him,” he repeated. “And I know who the guy next to him is, too.”
Twelve years he’d served at Ethan’s side, from the day Ethan graduated the Secret Service Academy at Rowley until his transfer to Iowa. Welby had been an agent one year longer, but he’d still been a newbie when Ethan had joined the DC field office, and then the White House. Twelve years of operations together. Twelve years of moving with Ethan, watching him on the protective detail. Watching him with his protectees, how he moved with them.
And then, seeing how different he was with President Spiers. Ethan had always been a consummate professional, a man of clean lines and exacting standards. He’d rocketed up the ranks of the Secret Service because of his discipline, his no-nonsense behavior, his determination and dedication to the service. Professional at all times, even with the most difficult assignments, the most pain-in-the-ass protectees.
Until President Spiers. Until he and Jack came together like sparks catching flame.
With him, Ethan had made protections personal. Welby had seen it, even before the truth came out. Ethan had become compromised. He cared about Spiers. He stood too close. Kept the president in his body space, inside his shadow. Moved his own body in tandem with the president, like they were connected. Like they were a team, a unit, a pair. He’d protected Spiers like he was protecting the most precious thing in the world, and after, when everything came out, Welby realized that had beenexactlywhat Ethan had been doing.
The man in the pictures, striding alongside the man in a black balaclava, moved the same way.
Twelve years he’d been at Ethan’s side, and he could pick out Ethan’s style of protection in an instant. He could see the way Ethan breathed and moved with the man in black, reacted to him almost before the man in black even made a move. A matched set, a unified team. A partnership closer than any he’d ever seen.
“It’s President Spiers,” Welby breathed. “The president is alive.”
30
Washington DC
“WHAT THE FUCK IS going on, Levi?” Snarling, Welby pinned Levi to the wall in the tunnels below the White House. He’d called in a report, asking Levi to come check out something suspicious. Something he didn’t want to say over the radio.
Given Levi’s turn toward obvious paranoia and isolation, he’d gambled that it would work.
It did. Levi came down alone, and Welby jumped him.
“Welby?” Levi’s eyes went wide, and he struggled against Welby’s hold. Levi against Pete was an unfair match. Pete never stood a chance. But agent to agent, Levi against Welby? One of them would have to bleed to end this.
“Spiers is alive,” Welby hissed. He leaned in close, breathing against Levi’s cheek. “Ethan’swithhim.I know the truth.”
Thrashing, Levi tried to shake him off. Welby kneed him in the gut and spun him around, slamming him face-first into the concrete wall. “So, here’s the question!” Welby roared. “Are you working with him or against him? Where the fuck were you the night of the bombing?”
Levi hadn’t been at the White House when the blast went off at Langley. He hadn’t been with Welby, either.
“What the fuck is this?” Levi snarled, his face smashed to the wall. “What aboutyou, Welby? Are you working for Madigan? Trying to find out information to pass on to him?”
