“It doesn’t work like that. All of the Capitol access is on a secure, nonnetworked computer that I can’t get into.”
“So, we’ll have to find a way to get past the final security checkpoints?”
“Yes,” said Nancy. “What I can tell you is Agent Klotz is in the HVAC Access Room, which is on the second subbasement level of the Capitol. I believe they will try to inject the cyanide in a liquid form into the heating system. The liquid will vaporize and spread through the building via the heating system, killing more or less everybody in the building. What I don’t understand is how they’re planning to get out.”
“They’re not,” Gideon said. “They’ll have to trigger it manually. All radio signals will be jammed.”
It was a sobering thought. People who planned their own deaths were the hardest to stop. A man willing to give his life for something he believed in didn’t offer much room for negotiation.
“Once you reach the Capitol, you won’t be able to contact me,” said Nancy. “I can get you to the Russell Building. But once you’re inside, you’ll be on your own.”
“Got it,” Gideon said.
“There’s one more thing you should know.” She hesitated, glancing at the TV that played C-SPAN behind her. “Your fiancée is inside.”
“Kate?” Gideon was stunned. “What the hell is she doing there?”
“inggggggggg t‡She’s with the secretary of the interior.”
He knew Kate had been working with Secretary Fitzgerald on the Deepwater commission, but he was momentarily stunned by the irony that she had accepted an invitation to attend the State of the Union address with him. That she was now at ground zero for the attack filled him with dread.
“Nancy, you have to get her out of there.”
“I don’t have any way to reach her.”
“Figure something out. You must know someone inside. Give her this number. Tell her to call me.”
“There is one agent I can trust . . .”
In her voice, Gideon heard her willingness to help and knew that their own relationship had reached a new level of understanding. Nancy had set aside whatever lingering resentment remained in order to achieve their common goal.
“Thank you, Nancy,” he said.
“Good luck.”
Gideon disconnected and explained to Tillman what Nancy had told him.
“You okay?” Tillman asked.
“Yeah. But if we can’t sneak or brazen our way through, we’re going to have to mount an assault on the Capitol—something so over the top that it would force them to evacuate the building . . . or at least recheck all their security precautions.”
“You’re talking about some kind of suicide attack.”
Gideon nodded. “Kate is in there. If I can’t stop Wilmot and get her out. I won’t have a choice. But you don’t have to come with me.”
“Are you kidding? Of course I’m coming with you. I’m your brother.”
“I know how the government treated you. You don’t owe those people a thing—especially not your life.”
“Gideon, the truth is I would come with you even if you weren’t my brother. I may not seem like much of a patriot anymore, but I still love this country, and I’m not going to let a pair of wackos kill a bunch of innocent people. But most of all, I’m not going to let them kill you or my future sister-in-law. Not if I can help it.”
Gideon regarded Tillman’s lined and tired face, so different from his own, and yet so familiar. “Thank you,” he said, brimming with gratitude.
“Now let’s go blow up some shit.”
Gideon snaked around the bombproof barriers at the Russell Building parking garage entrance. When they pulled into the lot, a Capitol police officer checked their IDs wordlessly, punching them into the computer that held the list of people who were cleared to park there that evening.
Gideon’s heart was pounding as the officer yawned and then stared at the screen. For all he knew the computer could be networked into whatever system listed them as wanted by the FBI.
But apparently the computer was just for parking clearances. The bored officer waved them through and went back to reading Teigthehe Washington Post.
The parking garage was nearly full.
“Just leave it here,” Tillman said once they’d wound down to the level of the tunnel connecting them to the Russell Building.
Gideon pulled up next to the elevators and climbed out of the car. He was still wearing his tactical gear.
According to Nancy, the entrance to the tunnel lay through a door near the elevator bank. Two heavily armed guards stood beside the door.
“Talk or shoot?” Tillman said.
“Talk,” Gideon said. “If we start shooting right off the bat, everybody goes on high alert and we’re screwed.”
“Agreed,” Tillman said.
“Follow my play.”
As soon as Gideon got within earshot of the guards, he began talking loudly into his cell phone. “Yes, ma’am, I realize that. I realize . . . Yes, ma’am. I’ll be there in less than three minutes, I promise.” He ignored the two guards and walked straight toward the door.
“Whoa whoa whoa!” one of the guards yelled. “Stop right there.”
Gideon waved irritably at the agent with the back of his hand, as though he were more concerned with whoever he was speaking to on the phone. But he stopped walking. “Yes, ma’am, I realize that. I’m already at the checkpoint in the Russell Building. If you could just . . . Right . . . right . . . right.”
“Who the hell are you?” The guard raised his P90 and was pointing it at Gideon. “Stop right there!”
Gideon rolled his eyes. “Just a moment, ma’am.” He put his hand over the phone. “Agents Dillard and Koons,” he said to the guard. “State Department Security. I’m talking to the secretary of state.”
“What?” the guard said incredulously.
“Some kind of SNAFU. The labor secretary’s security is being held up at the door, and I have to get in there and straighten out the credential situation.”
“Wait a minute, wait a minute, who are you?”
“Goddammit, I just told you! Are you deaf? Agents Dillard and Koons with the State Department.”
“Where’s your clearance? Where’s your pass?”
“Here, look, talk to Secretary Bonifacio, okay?”
Gideon extended his phone to the guard, and the man regarded it as if it were radioactive. Secretary Bonifacio had a notorious temper, and Gideon could see the guard debating whether he wanted to risk her wrath. Then he said, “Go ahead. You’ll have to surrender your weapons.”
“Sure,” Gideon said. “Of course. Mine is stowed in my vehicle already.” He lifted his coat to show an empty holster.
Tillman unholstered his pistol and laid it on the table by the door.
The two guards then checked them with a metal detector and waved them on. Gideon and Tillman walked through the door, into the concrete tunnel, and began walking toward the Russell Building a few hundred yards away.
“I’m impressed,” said Tillman. “You’re very convincing.”
“I’ve had a lot of practice,” said Gideon.
They hadn’t taken more than a few strides when one of the guards called, “Oh, gentlemen, I’ll need to see your IDs.”
Gideon and Tillman, of course, had only their real IDs, which would undoubtedly set off alarm bells.
“So much for talking,” said Tillman.
“I’ll take the one on the left,” Gideon whispered.
They turned and walked back toward the two guards. When they got within two yards of the men, they both put their shoulders down and charged forward, smashing the two guards into the concrete wall. Tillman and Gideon were both sizable, fit men. But so were the Secret Service guards. Having spent his life training in the fighting arts, Tillman was better prepared than Gideon for what came next.
Tillman planted the heel of his hand under the Secret Service man’s chin and slammed his helmet against the concrete wall. Even wearing a helmet the impact was enough to stun the man. Tillman then hit him with a short left hook to the jaw, and the man went down in a heap.