Candidate Z by Marc D Giller

Author:Marc D Giller [Giller, Marc D]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2020-02-12T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twelve

The Algerian marched Hunter her around the back of the house, prodding her toward a service entrance far away from from the steady exodus of guests pouring through the front gate. Even from there, she could hear the thrum of precision engineered German engines as they drove off into the night, ferrying away the cream of the DC establishment before the likes of her could sully them with her presence—and likely raise questions that Vance might find inconvenient. Already, that gave Hunter a certain advantage, even if she did have a gun pointed into her back.

The final clang of the closing gate sounded before the Algerian gave her the nod to enter the house. Following his order, she opened the door and walked into the kitchen, then waited there as the Algerian followed her inside.

“Straight ahead,” he said, “and to the left.”

Hunter already knew the way to the study, based on her knowledge of the blueprints. She proceeded slowly, no longer keeping her arms raised but cooperating fully. During that short march, the two of them cemented a mutual respect—so much that by the time they reached Vance’s study, the Algerian circled around and opened the door for her himself. He then stood aside, knowing that his boss had deemed that she should go in alone—the final act in his show of good manners.

“Thanks,” Hunter told him. “By the way, you might want to put some ice on that nose.”

“Don’t worry,” the Algerian quipped right back. “Like the lovely red welt on your cheek, it will be fine in the morning.”

The door clicked loudly as it closed behind her.

“You know,” she heard Harley Vance say, “I’ve been wiretapped and I’ve been hacked. Even had one guy stuff himself into a suitcase so he could roll into my hotel suite and steal one of my campaign playbooks. But this is the first time anyone has had the brass to show up at my house and spy on me in person.”

Hunter turned in the direction of his voice to find Vance seated on the sofa comfortably, drink in hand, not so much angry as impressed. He was much different from the figure she had seen through her viewfinder, or in front of his guests even—more real, less guarded, keeping the theatrics in check while he decided what to make of her. Toward that end, black discerning eyes inspected Hunter’s every attribute: appearance, bearing, a quick assessment of her intelligence and personality based on how she reacted to him. Coupled with his prominent jaw and a nose that looked as if it might have been broken more than once in a fight, he somewhat resembled a boxer sizing up an opponent before deciding where to land the first punch.

“Maybe they have and you just never knew it,” Hunter replied.

“Not a chance,” Vance said, with the utmost confidence, as he got up and and refreshed his drink. He also poured one for Hunter, not asking whether or not she wanted it. She quickly surmised that for now, at least, choice didn’t figure much into her options.

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