McKittrick, twenty-eight, looked into the eyes of all the men on his team. Only one glanced away. “Agent Thompson?”
“I’m not saying it isn’t possible, sir,” replied Doug Thompson, the youngest man on the team at the tender age of twenty-five.
“But?”
“But he’s worked for the presidenT — well, really for Oaks as vice presidenT — for more than a year. He’s got a stellar reputation, a spotless record—”
McKittrick cut him off. “Doug, you really want to tell Agent Coelho’s widow and his three fatherless children that the man who killed him has a stellar reputation?”
“I’m just saying I don’t think he’d kill the president,” Thompson said defensively.
“Anyone else agree with that assessment?” McKittrick asked.
No one did.
“I didn’t think so.”
They quickly reviewed a floor plan of the conference room, the schematics of the electrical work and the HVAC ducts, and improvised their plan in less than five minutes.
“Let’s just hope this works, gentlemen,” McKittrick said, almost to himself, as he adjourned their meeting. “The last thing this country needs is another dead president.”
“Mr. Vice President, I think we should move you.”
Lee James stopped pacing the floor of the Mount Weather ops center and turned to Agent Bob Santini, head of his protective detail. “Where?” he asked.
“Off the floor,” Santini said quietly.
“But to where?” James pressed.
“Sir, given the situation at Crystal Palace, I’d just feel safer if we had you in a more protected environment. I’m thinking of General Stephens’s office upstairs.”
“Agent Santini, we’re in one of the most secure facilities on the planet.”
“So is the president,” the agent replied. “Please, sir. Until we figure out exactly what’s going on.”
James looked around him at the hubbub of activity. Two military aides nearby feverishly worked the phones, trying to track down the whereabouts of Jon Bennett. Some were developing contingency plans for China, others for North Korea, and, of course, new information was constantly pouring in from field teams assessing the damage in New York, D.C., Seattle, and L.A.
“Fine, but I’m not happy about this, Agent,” James said, then turned around to find Ginny Harris, his press secretary, standing there with two cell phones in her hands.
“Sir, do you have a moment?” she asked.
“I really don’t, Ginny,” he said as Santini and the rest of the detail began moving him toward the stairs.
“Sir,” Harris continued, “I really think you need to—”
“Not right now, Ginny,” James said, cutting her off. “Call me in ten minutes.”
He began heading to the second floor but Harris wouldn’t take no for an answer.
“Mr. Vice President, with all due respect, CNN has the story.”
James stopped in his tracks and turned back. “What?”
“Someone’s got a source inside NORAD. They know what’s happening.”
James looked at the cell phones.
“They’re on mute, sir,” Harris said, seeing his concern.
“They’d better be.”
“They are,” she assured him.
“Mr. Vice President,” Agent Santini said, looking anxious. “Please, sir. We need to keep moving.”
“Fine. Walk with me,” James told Harris and they picked up the pace. “What does CNN have?”
“They know there’s a gunman,” Harris said. “They know two people are dead. There are rumors the president has been shot and wounded.”
James was stunned. “Is that true?” he asked, turning a corner and stepping inside General Mike Stephens’s office with Agent Santini and six other agents at his side.
“I don’t know, sir,” Harris conceded.
The vice president turned to Santini. “Is that true — has the president been hit?”
“No, sir,” Santini said. “I haven’t heard anything like that.”
“Check it out,” James ordered. “And tell the guys at NORAD to get me that video feed again. I want to know exactly what’s happening in that room.”
“Yes, sir,” Santini said. “I’m on it.”
Suddenly a military aide rushed to the door, before being stopped by agents. “The president’s still alive, sir.”
“You’re sure?” James asked.
“Absolutely, sir. I’ve got the head of the Marine security division on the line.”
“What’s the status inside that room?”
“Caulfield still has the president. But a Counter Assault Team is preparing to move in.”
James felt his whole body tense. He’d known Caulfield practically from the day the boy had started working for Oaks. He’d liked him. He’d seen a bright future for him. How was this possible?
“Do they have a clear shot?” he asked, not entirely sure what he wanted the answer to be. There had to be a way out of this, he told himself. There had to be.
“Not yet, sir,” the aide said. “But they expect to have one in the next few moments.”
“And then?” he asked, reluctantly.
“They’re authorized to use any force necessary, sir.”
And James had no doubt they would use it, and soon.
59
Agent McKittrick carefully moved his men into position.
One set up a small video camera in the hallway, without Caulfield noticing, giving them — and the vice presidenT — a live feed. Another of his agents was now working his way through the heating and air-conditioning ducts. When McKittrick gave the word, he’d release semitoxic gas that would knock out everyone in the conference room in a matter of seconds.
“Does anybody have an idea why Bobby’s doing this?”
“Nothing certain, sir,” the vice president’s senior military aide replied. “But Agent McKittrick is concerned he could be a sleeper agent.”
“Bobby Caulfield?” James asked. “That’s not possible.”
“Maybe yes, maybe no,” the aide said. “But it would certainly explain why he’s moving now, just as the president is considering war plans against Pyongyang.”
“No,” the vice president said. “I don’t buy it. There’s something else going on here.”
“I’m only telling you what they’re telling me, sir.”
“Thanks, that’ll be enough for now.” The vice president suddenly felt overwhelmed with a sense of sadness and exhaustion. “Call with updates as you get them.”
“Yes, sir. I will, sir.”
The aide returned to the ops center floor. James sat down in the general’s leather swivel chair behind a large oak desk and ordered the agents to shut the door. Santini stayed at his side. Another agent stayed in the room, a few steps from Harris, who took a seat in a chair beside the desk. No longer would he be left alone, even with a longtime trusted aide. The rest of the agents took up positions in the hallway.
“No comment,” James said at last.
“Pardon me, sir?” Harris asked.
“Tell CNN no comment.”
“You sure, sir?” Harris asked. “We could call it an exercise of some sort.”
“Are you kidding, Ginny?” James asked, shaking his head. “The last thing we’re going to do is lie to the American people. Especially right now. But we don’t need to give them the full truth. Not yet. Let’s get this thing resolved, and we’ll go from there.”
“Yes, sir,” Harris said. “Can I get you something, sir? You don’t look so good.”
“No, I’m fine,” James said, not exactly lying but not telling the complete truth either. He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. He hadn’t slept in more than twenty-four hours. He’d barely eaten. He couldn’t remember how many cups of coffee he had consumed. He could see no light at the end of the tunnel.