Free The CleanSweep Conspiracy by Chuck Waldron Page B

can’t go to our homes.” Carl looked around, suddenly alert. “Where the hell did they all go? Why aren’t they keeping us under surveillance?” Then he held up his hand to indicate they should be silent and pointed to a doorway. It led down a ramp at the far corner of the parking deck. “I think those stairs take us to the alleyway behind the garage.”
    At the foot of the stairs, he held up his hand again, listening for footsteps, voices, or other telltale signs that someone might be near. Satisfied, he dialed and, after a moment began talking, keeping his voice low.
    “It’s me. We need to meet. Do you remember the place we first met?”
    He waited, listening, and then said, “Yeah, that’s the place.” Carl looked at Susan while he paused. “Ask for Susie at the desk.” He smiled at the response that came from the phone.
    “We’re meeting him. It’s arranged, Susan. Now we walk. We need to avoid the areas that were closed off after the rioting. We can’t use our cell phones unless absolutely necessary, and we don’t use credit cards — nothing that can be traced. It’s a long walk. Are you up to it?” He knew she was, but he said it to challenge her, to jolt her with energy and to keep shock and fear from creeping into her mind. It worked.
    Susan shot him a withering look of disdain that caused him to relax. He knew she was returning to her old self, for better or worse. Carl slammed the cassette against the railing in the stairway to break it apart. He picked out the media cards and thrust them into his pocket. He opened the exit door, and the two of them stepped into the night.

CHAPTER 8
    Bad News Travels Fast
    A ngela Vaughn stood at the office door of the one person who truly terrified her. She hesitated, knowing her career was on the line. The office of Charles Claussen didn’t need a nameplate — everyone knew it was his. Instead of knocking, though, she turned around and walked into a nearby alcove. She knew it was pointless to try and avoid what needed to be said. Still, a visit to the restroom was always a good excuse for delaying. She glanced at the men’s room door, on her right, then went through the one on the left.
    She knew she had to face Claussen with the truth. She looked in the mirror, inspecting her own eyes to see if they betrayed any sign of weakness. Cupping her hands under the tap, she splashed cold water on her face. She didn’t have to worry about spoiling her makeup — she never used any. Angela Vaughn was, however, particular about her hair. She drew a brush from her handbag to begin smoothing away errant strands.
    “I might as well get it over with.”
    She was satisfied with her reflection and the tailored, dark - blue suit she wore, chosen with care to compliment her physique. At forty - two, she maintained a rigorous workout schedule, a habit formed during her days at the police academy. Her hand still reached for her police shield at times. Angela would still have been a cop, too, if it weren’t for the career seduction orchestrated by Charles Claussen.
    For Claussen, seduction had never been about sex. He seduced people with offers of financial compensation and power. “Leave the police force and head up my security team — a specialty security team. You will have power beyond imagination.” She had liked that prospect a lot.
    With a final look at the woman in the mirror, she turned, pushed open the door, walked back to Claussen’s office, and rapped softly on the door.
    “Enter.” The word came through the door in a rich baritone.
    Angela stepped in and closed the door behind her. She felt as if she were standing over a trapdoor. One false move on her part, and it would spring open. She would fall through and out of favor, with her name and memory forever rubbed out of the company history.
    Charles Claussen played his role with an actor’s precision, knowing how long to hold a pause for just the right dramatic effect. He kept his silence, his eyes