O'Neil Brothers: High Stakes Part 29

"She got an exclusive from the ONeil family a few weeks ago."

"I didnt give it to her."

"No?"

When Dylan said no more, Clive sat forward in his seat. "Do you want to be a writer, Dylan?"

The comment raised his hackles. "I am a writer, Clive. And Im proud of what I do."

"On a small scale."

"Id do it on a bigger scale if I could but not by printing something I dont believe."

"Thats nave."

"It is what it is."

The agent steepled his hands. "You know what this means."

"Yes. You wont represent me."

"I got you a six-figure deal, and you turned it down. What more could you expect me to do?"

"Represent me honestly."

"Theres honesty and theres honesty."

That made this a little easier. "You knew I wouldnt capitalize on Baileys fame. Yet you proposed this to Jermaine, anyway."

"Ah, but you did capitalize on your sister."

"I told you I had nothing to do with the stories Rachel Scott ran."

"If you say so." Again, he watched Dylan. "I cant do any more for you if you wont take my advice. Personally, Im flabbergasted at your rejection."

"I can understand that." He stood. "Thank you, Clive. For all you tried to do for me. Ill send a certified letter dissolving our agreement."

"Sure. Good luck, Dylan."

This time Clive didnt offer his hand.

As Dylan left, more loss swamped him.

Syria Report #2 Rachel sat in the back of a jeep with a bandana over her mouth and a covering for her head and face. Deep within Syria, the vehicle made its way on the dirt roads from a rebel headquarters to an outlying section of the city.

When the jeep stopped, Rachel faced the camera to give some background; the wind tugged at her head covering and she could feel grains in her eyes. "Fighters known as the Free Syrian Army, the same group Rhoulas father belongs to, are taking us to a city where an extremist jihadist group is based. Jihad is an Islamic term for the religious duty of all Muslims. It means struggle in the way of Allah. There are two common interpretations of this struggle: either internal struggle by a believer to fulfill his religious duties or an external struggle, which often results in violence. Here in Syria, the latter is more common and is often a.s.sociated with terrorism."

They continued on until she spotted a dark, foreboding flag flying over a low roof, the signal that theyd reached their destination.

"Try to get the background, Tommy," Crane said to the cameraman.

Bypa.s.sing outer buildings, they neared a square. Rachel saw several stucco structures up ahead with rows of white, plastic chairs in front of them. Yelling could be heard in the background. When they stopped, the camera kept rolling. "This is the meeting place of ISIS, which stands for the Islamic State of Iraq and Syria, behind me. Youll see several villagers among the group."

"Lets go," the man from the Free Army said. "Well blend in with the crowd and get closer." He turned to Tommy. "Do you have something smaller?"

Setting the large camera aside, Tommy took out one the size of a phone. As they got closer, the interpreter said, "We are witnessing ISIS pledging allegiance to jihad."

Sounds of shouting emitted from two burly men with the three recruits. They raised their arms, fists pumping, while the crowd cheered. Rachel looked around and once again spotted children; this time, they watched the ceremony with awe. The scene was indoctrination in the flesh. After about twenty minutes, one child glanced back at them.

The guide whispered, "We must leave. They have seen us."

They walked out of the rally and returned to their jeep. On the ride back to headquarters, Rachael pieced together all shed seen so far in Syria and wondered how this region would ever achieve peace.

After watching The Rachel Scott Show, Bailey went to her computer and called Dylan through Skype. He answered right away.

His face fell. "Oh, hi, Bay."

"Expecting someone else?"

Swallowing hard, he sat down and stared at her with bleak eyes. "I was hoping it might be Rachel."

"I saw the show. Looks like shes got herself an interesting a.s.signment."

"What is it with women like her, you, Sophie and C.J. that you need such dangerous jobs?"

Bailey held her temper. She knew her brother was hurting. "Guess its the same thing as Mitch, Nate, Sophies army brother, Clay even. The danger of the job is secondary to the good we do."

"What good is she doing over there?" he snapped.

"Alerting the world to the horrors of war. Maybe if we see the reality of it more, well stop the craziness."

He calmed, visibly. "Maybe."

"I thought you were through with her." Her tone wasnt challenging. All she wanted was to help her brother.

"I thought I was, too."

"And now?"

"Ive been thinking about her nonstop. Rachel was right to get mad about the column. Maybe even to threaten to use the private stuff when she thought I was doing the same to her. Ive done some bad things in the relationship, but s.h.i.t, Bay, Im in love with her and shes dodging bombs."

"Dyl, listen to me. Other than Pat, were all in what was, at first, an initially doomed relationship that had no business working out."

"I guess." His gaze narrowed. "Why are you being so nice about her? You told her to leave me alone when you gave her the stories."

Uh-oh. "I, um, still believe in the ultimatum."

"Do you? Or did you just do that to make her fight for me?"

"Me?" she asked. "Of course not. I always say what I mean."

"Sure you do."

They chatted for a bit longer, then disconnected. Bailey had just gotten up from the desk when Clay came in from a long day at work. She crossed to him and gave him a hug while he was still in the doorway. His agents looked the other way, and Clay said, "Hmm." Then he asked his guards to leave them alone and they took seats on the couch in the library after he closed the doors.

"Hard day?"

"G.o.d, this Syria things a mess. What do they expect us to do? Start another foreign war?"

"Its pretty bad over there. I saw reports from Scott."

"As much as I hate to say it, shes doing a good job. Who would have thought?"

"I still dont like her. But Dylans in deep, Clay. Hes worried about her."

Raising an eyebrow, he said, "I know the feeling, love."

Reaching out, she grabbed his hand and linked her fingers with his. "You did okay with my job."

"Yeah? I remember months of agony."

Bailey asked, "How did your meeting with Mark go?"

"Well. He has some good advice about Syria."

"Oh, thats good."

"Hmm."

"What else, Clay? Tell me."

"Hes not coming back to finish his term. Thats why Im so late."

Her worst fear, for a lot of reasons. "Has his condition worsened?"

"No, hes making good progress. But he doesnt want the stress of the job, and the doctors said he had to slow down. You can imagine how Mich.e.l.le feels. He decided last night."

"Wow." She held his gaze, the hazel-eyed one shed come to love more than her own. "We have decisions to make."

"He told me he wouldnt resign if I werent in the seat to replace him. He just a.s.sumed I want to be president."

"Do you, Clay?"

"In some ways. But I hate that I dont get to see the kids or you hardly at all." Lifting their joined hands, he kissed her knuckles. "Bay, this could mean ten years in the White House. Thats a lot of our lives."

"The kids would grow up there."

"I know. I asked Mark to wait to make the announcement."

Do the right thing. Do the right thing. Do the right thing. "Ill do whatever you want, Clay. Willingly."

"I love you so much," he said.

"I love you."

Suddenly, he pushed her back onto the couch. "What the h.e.l.l? There are agents crawling all over the house."

"I dont care." He covered her mouth with his. "I locked the library doors, anyway."

"Still, what if-"

Those were the last words she got out.

Syria REPORT #3 Theyd gotten a tip that a rebel group was storming a government compound in the northeast corner of a major city around three a.m. Rachel and her crew had headed out late in the night. They took cover about twenty yards away from the structure, where a few people darted in and out from behind buildings. Did they know about the attack? How did citizens live this way?

"Ready?" Tommy asked.

"Yes." She positioned herself in range of the building and licked her lips, which were cracked and parched. It was hotter than h.e.l.l, and sweat dripped from the camouflage shirt and green pants she wore, along with thick boots.

The camera rolled. "Behind us is The Interior Ministry Building, the site of many of the conflicts between the government and the insurgents. Throughout this year alone, the structure was bombed four times."

An explosion ripped through the air. A flash lit up the area. There was a boom, then the earth shook. Rachel turned to see the gates surrounding the government building were on fire. Her heart thrummed in her chest. She managed to turn back to the cameraman, but at first, she couldnt speak, she was so scared. Smoke began to filter out to them, making her cough.

Gathering her wits, she looked into the lens. "As you can see behind me, the gate surrounding the area has been bombed. A gaping hole of about ten feet is allowing the rebels access to the compound."

The streets filled with...rebels who rushed into the now-accessible area. A big man b.u.mped into her hard, and she lost her footing. Crane leaped toward her and kept her from falling.

"Sorry about that," she said into the camera again and, seeing the wrap-up gesture from Crane, she added, "Rebels are now attacking and citizens are taking cover. Well be moving from here and will be back-"

Another explosion rent the air.

Everything went black.

The night after he talked to Bailey, Dylan sat in the backroom of the pub, before the television. Business was slow, and hed come here when hed lost the battle with himself over watching the program-again. He hadnt been able to stay away from the other broadcasts. The piece with the Syrian kids was endearing, the rally had been riveting, but all the while, Dylan had been dying inside.

Her show began with live footage and a voice-over: "And now an exclusive from our own Rachel Scott." Her image appeared on-screen. G.o.d, she was beautiful, though she wore almost no makeup and was draped in clothes meant to conceal her ident.i.ty. She addressed the camera with poise.

He listened intently. Then, Jesus, an explosion went off. Dylan jumped up from the couch. "f.u.c.k!" But okay, okay. She was fine. She was trying to explain what was happening, something about rebels attacking a government building. His fists clenched as he continued to watch.

h.e.l.l, that hulk almost trampled her. "Get out of there, Rach," he shouted at the television set.