I look around the room getting used to the feel and the weight.
Jonas moves toward me and hands me the remote. “All yours, Adrian. When you activate it, it should take no more than two or three minutes for the nitrous oxide to vent out. Allow maybe another minute as a safety net to make sure everyone’s dropped off, and a final minute for it to clear enough that we can remove the masks.”
I take it and nod, trying not to laugh at the fact he sounds like Darth Vader when he talks with his mask on. “Thanks.”
The device is a simple design — black and narrow with two buttons: On/Off and Activate.
I reckon even I can figure this out…
“Everyone ready?” I ask.
They all nod.
I press the button.
We wait exactly five minutes. There was some commotion outside the door at first, but it seems to have gone quiet now. I check the time again and look at the rest of the team. “Shall we?”
I move toward the door, grab the handle, and turn it slowly, easing it open and creating a gap just a couple inches wide. I look through it down the corridor. I can just about see the leg of one of the marines on the floor.
That’s encouraging…
I open the door wider and step out. The guy we spoke to earlier is leaning against the wall, still upright, using his shirttails to cover his nose and mouth. I can hear him coughing into them, and his eyes are blurry with tears.
I don’t hesitate. I whip my hand up and back, hitting him hard in the throat with the outside edge. His eyes bulge momentarily, and he drops to the floor, landing heavily at my feet. I crouch beside him and take his gun, which I tuck into the belt around the waist of my coveralls.
The rest of the team appears from inside the maintenance room.
“Jonas, you think it’s safe to remove the masks?”
He nods. “Should be alright…”
He rips his off quickly, like a Band-Aid, and takes a deep breath. We wait ten seconds to see if he falls over. He doesn’t. The rest of us follow suit.
“Okay.” I point to the right. “The Oval should be that way. Keep your eyes open, everyone. Remember what I said — anyone this side of that office not holding a gun is innocent.”
I set off walking, keeping my pace purposeful but cautious. Outside, and in the other parts of the building, I suspect all hell is breaking loose. But I reckon we have at least five minutes before the doors are kicked in by masked SWAT teams armed to the teeth.
Plenty of time.
The corridor doglegs slightly to the right. Every room we pass is the same — people are out cold, either on the floor or slumped over a desk or chair. About halfway along, a double door leading into a waiting area stands open. I stop to look into the room. There’s a desk facing me with a woman still in her chair face down, sprawled across the surface. There’s another desk to the immediate right, which is empty. In the corner is a single white door, closed.
The Oval Office.
I close my eyes for a moment, taking some calming breaths. From my bedroom in the apartment above my bar in a small Texan town to the doors of the president’s office in Washington, DC… It’s been a little over three weeks since I found myself involved in this shit, and in that time the entire world has changed. The terrorist attack that wiped out almost 5 percent of the world’s population… the conspiracy behind it that began with the US president… me and the people I care about being branded terrorists and hunted by the CIA… North Korea declaring war on everyone — it’s all led to this moment, right here, right now.
And this is where it ends.
I look back at Jonas, at Ruby, at Oscar… I wouldn’t be here without them. Ruby, especially, has saved my ass more than once along the way. She’s… well, she’s a character, there’s no doubt about that! But she’s proven herself as someone deserving of my friendship. And she’s definitely earned her twenty million.
I walk back and stand beside Oscar. “Okay, this is it, everyone. We’ve finally made it. Let’s finish this.”
I gesture everyone forward, and they turn to walk inside the first room. I put my hand in my pocket and retrieve two hypodermic needles, each enclosed in a thin tube. I quickly remove the tubes and step forward, jamming the needles into the necks of both Ruby and Jonas without hesitation. They both let out a shocked yell, each clasping a hand to the point of injection and spinning around.
I look at each of them regretfully. “I’m sorry. But I’m not having you go down with me.”
Ruby reaches out to me. “Adrian…”
They both drop to the floor, landing awkwardly on each other.
Oscar moves next to me. “They’re gonna be pissed when they wake up, y’know that, don’t you?”
I nod. “Yeah, I know. But this started with me, and I’m gonna make sure it ends with me. Thanks for helping me with this, Oscar. They’ve both done me a great service. Make sure you tell them their money is already in their accounts, and that I’m sorry.”
“I will, don’t worry.”
“You gonna be okay getting them out of here?”
“Yeah. Like you said back in Veronica’s kitchen, I’ll drag them to the lobby and claim ignorance. It’ll be fine. No one’s looking for us dressed like this.”
I extend my hand, which he shakes. “Thank you, Oscar. You’re a good friend.”
“Just make sure I don’t lose my best customer in there, alright?”
We both smile. “I’ll do my best.”
He bends down and grabs their collars, one in each hand, and slowly starts to drag them away.
I watch him for a moment, then I take off my coveralls. Underneath, I’m in a simple, inconspicuous outfit of jeans and a T-shirt. I tuck the borrowed gun into my waistband at the back, and pick up my discarded disguise and gas mask, placing them on the desk just inside the room. I peel off the makeup Ruby’s friend expertly applied, revealing my true features once again.
I glance around the room. Nice furniture, deep blue carpet… even a paperweight with the presidential seal on it on the desk in front of me. I remember a time when seeing this in person would’ve impressed me, when I would’ve considered it an honor. Now, I feel disgusted by it. The magic forever tainted by the corruption and greed of the man sitting a few feet away behind this white door.
I take the gun from my back, gripping it tightly in my hand. I crack my neck, welcoming the new and improved, disciplined Inner Satan to stand beside me. Not in front of me. Not behind the wheel. By my side. Working with me to make me a better killer. A better weapon. A better man.
I stride toward the door and thrust my leg forward, connecting just next to the handle. It flies open, nearly off its hinges. I step inside the Oval Office and—
Oh.
I drop the gun to the floor.
Sonofabitch.
In front of me on the left, President Cunningham is sitting calmly behind his fancy-looking desk wearing a nice suit. There’s a smug look spread across his annoying fucking face. On the right, following the curve of the room, standing in a spacious line are six — no, seven Secret Service agents, all wearing their standard-issue black suits and holding their standard-issue firearms. In the middle of the room, sitting spread across two brown leather sofas are three men, also wearing suits. Two of them have their backs to me. The other is facing me, but I don’t recognize him.
I feel the barrel of a gun touch my temple. I flick my gaze to my left.
Oh, my mistake—eight Secret Service agents.
Cunningham stands, walks around his desk, and rests casually on the edge, crossing his arms across his chest.