Chapter Twenty-Eight
Mallory stared at herself in the mirror, relieved that she’d made it through the bridge checkpoints without a problem.
Her now short dark hair framed her face, transforming her into a stranger that even she didn’t recognize.
Clarence had dropped her off at the fishing cabin the night before with a promise to return in a couple days.
The small cabin was stocked with canned goods and bottled water. Coupled with the staples she’d picked up at the drug store in Pensacola, she should be fine for a while.
With trembling hands, Mallory picked up her disposable cell and dialed the Sentinel.
A feminine voice answered. “Destin Sentinel.”
“I need to speak with Mike Calhoun,” Mallory demanded with more confidence than she felt.
A sniff sounded in Mallory’s ear. “He’s in a meeting at the moment. Would you like to leave a message?”
Mallory saw red. She’d worked with Mike long enough to know how he operated. He was no more in a meeting than she was a true brunette. “I suggest you go get him. If he misses this story, it won’t be only your job that you lose. It’ll likely be your head as well.”
A long pause ensued. “Hold, please.”
Mallory blew out a nervous breath. She wasn’t sure if her threat would work or not. She’d half expected the woman to hang up on her.
“This is Calhoun.”
Mallory’s heart lurched at the sound of his voice. She swallowed back her fear and cleared her throat. “Mike? It’s Mallory. Before you say anything, are you someplace private where you can talk?”
“Hang on a second.”
She could hear the hum of voices in the media center grow distant before quieting altogether. “Jesus, Mallory. Your face has been all over the news for the past week. What kind of trouble are you in?”
“Big trouble, Mike. But I have something that you may be interested in. It’s the story of a lifetime.”
He grew silent for a moment. “What kind of story?”
Mallory knew that would get his attention. Mike had been fighting his way up the corporate ladder for years. “It’s an interview I did with one of the aliens. I have a copy of it on disc.”
Referring to Vaulcron as an alien didn’t sit well with Mallory, but she had to remember who she was speaking to.
“Oh my God, Cahill. You met one of them?”
“I did.” Mallory spent the next fifteen minutes briefing Mike on everything that had happened since she’d began investigating the government cover-up.
“Why are you giving this to me?” Mike asked, suspicion evident in his voice.
“Because I can’t very well air it myself, now can I?”
“Where is the disc now?”
“In a safe place.”
“And you?”
Mallory closed her eyes and prayed for patience. “I can’t tell you that.”
“Then how am I supposed to get it?”
“Go to the shipyard in Freeport. There’s a half-sunken boat tied to a dock right inside the entrance. Once you reach the end of that dock, look inside the broken window of the boat. The disc will be under a mildewed seat cushion.”
“Got it,” he murmured.
“And Mike?”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t tell anyone that you have the disc. Make a copy of it and hide it in a place that no one will find it before you air the piece. Understood?”
“I don’t know how to thank you for this, Cahill.”
“Don’t thank me yet. One more thing, Mike. Can you get me a private number for Vice President Pratt?”
“What are you planning, Cahill? You’re going to get yourself killed.”
“Then you’ll have my job.”
“Don’t be an ass,” Mike growled in a low tone.
“Will you please just get me the number? “
“Stand by. I’ll see what I can do.”
Minutes passed before Mike returned to the line. He rattled off the number to Vice President Pratt’s home.
“How in the hell did you get this so fast?”
“You have your ways,” Mike quipped. “I have mine.”
“I’ll owe you, Mike.” She hung up before he could question her further.
Mallory wandered into the small bedroom of the cabin and sat heavily on the foot of the bed.
She dialed the number Mike gave her before she changed her mind.
“Hello?” a female voice answered, soft and hesitant.
“Hi there. May I please speak to Vice President Pratt?”
“May I tell him who’s calling?”
“Mallory Cahill.”
“Ma—” the woman began before clearing her throat in obvious nervousness. “Just a moment.”
Mallory wiped her sweaty palms on her jeans and waited for the vice president to pick up the phone.
“Miss Cahill?”
“Vice President Pratt?” Mallory could almost see her blouse thumping from the acceleration of her heartbeat. “I need your help, sir.”
He laughed without humor. “You are a fugitive, Miss Cahill. I couldn’t help you if I wanted to.”
Mallory ground her teeth, summoning up every ounce of bravado she possessed. “If you don’t help me now, millions of lives will be lost. Are you willing to accept that responsibility?”
He grew quiet. “I’m listening.”
“Can I trust you, sir?”
“I don’t know, Miss Cahill. It depends on what you tell me.”
“Can you come to Florida?”
“Now?” he asked incredulously.
“Yes. It’s a matter of life and death, sir.”
“Look, Miss Cahill. I can’t just up and fly to another state. Especially not alone. What you are asking is impossible.”
Anger surged. “Nothing is impossible, sir. Especially with the entire world at stake.”
“You said that already.”
“Listen to me,” she bit out. “Martin Raducha, head of the CDC, is responsible for the Incola virus. President Howell is involved as well and is helping him cover it up. They have kidnapped, murdered, and committed treason. When the evidence I have, airs on the news, Howell will be impeached, and you will step into office. I need you to be in office, sir. So many lives are depending on that.”
A loud sigh echoed in her ear. “I’ll have the jet fueled up. But I won’t be alone. The secret service is with me everywhere I go.”
“But—” Mallory began, only to be cut off.
“No buts. There’s no other way. Don’t worry; no one will be told your identity.”
Mallory knew it was the best she would get. “Okay.” She rattled off the address. “When will you be here?”
“Tonight.” The line went dead.
Mallory fell back on the bed and draped an arm over her eyes. Either Pratt would show up and help her, or he’d send in the cavalry and have her killed. She had no choice but to wait and see.