“Shoot her,” someone yelled from the distance.
“She’s already dead” was the response of the deep voice, from very close.
Even as the cold barrel of a gun brushed her cheek, Jennie didn’t flinch. Even as she smelled the leather of his shoes and the awful pain coming from the wound knifed through her body, she kept still. She just hoped the little girl could, too.
“Shoot her anyway. Make sure she’s dead. Come on!”
The cold metal withdrew from her face as the screaming in the mall faded and the awful sounds of the dying and the wounded rose. For a moment Jennie believed she was safe, that whoever was standing over her wasn’t going to obey the command.
But then the barrel of a gun pressed firmly against her back, slightly off-center to her spine. Somehow she fought the urge to scream.
CHAPTER 5
“A friend of mine told me it looked like a war zone outside with all the military personnel,” Bill said quietly to Troy as they entered the Oval Office. They’d been escorted by two Secret Service agents every step of the way since arriving on White House grounds. “And like Walter Reed Hospital in here.”
The level of security around President Dorn had been ratcheted up dramatically since the assassination attempt a few weeks ago in Los Angeles. Before the shooting Dorn was constantly complaining to the Secret Service that they were getting in his way and not letting him be himself by wading into crowds to shake hands and kiss babies. But those days were gone for good now, by the president’s own admission. The assassination attempt had affected him profoundly. For the first time in his life Dorn had met his mortality face-to-face, and he’d never again allow himself to be so vulnerable.
“Your friend was right,” Troy muttered back as the two agents who’d been tailing them finally turned around and left them alone.
To the right was a long table covered with medical devices and boxes of all shapes and sizes. Beside it was an adjustable bed, raised so whoever was in it would be sitting up.
“Come in, Jensens,” President Dorn called to them weakly.
He was sitting behind the desk across the room, in a wheelchair. The assassin’s bullet had barely missed his heart on that outdoor stage in L.A. It had been off target a critical fraction of an inch only because Rex Stein, Dorn’s former chief of staff, had lunged in front of Dorn at the podium just as the shot had been fired from a building across the street. It had killed Stein, but he’d saved the president’s life by deflecting the bullet with one of his ribs before it tore out of him and into the president.
A sturdy-looking nurse wearing a white uniform stood behind the president with her arms folded tightly across her chest. She looked uneasy to Troy, like she hated that, against his team of physicians’ stern advice, the president had still deemed himself well enough to leave Walter Reed two days ago and return to work in the West Wing. More to the point, he guessed she was worried that Dorn might keel over and die at any moment — on her watch — and that she’d be blamed.
Before following his father’s footsteps across the royal blue carpet emblazoned with the seal of the president, Troy subtly saluted the arrows the eagle clasped in its left talon.
“It’s good to see you again, Mr. President,” Bill said respectfully as he stepped behind the desk and shook hands with Dorn. “You’re looking much better, sir.”
Troy took his turn to shake hands, making certain to ease off on his normally firm grip. Bill, Jack, and Troy had met with President Dorn at Walter Reed after the shooting. Though he was obviously still weak, Dorn looked in much better shape and spirits than he had that day. He’d looked pretty close to going flatline then, but now he was getting back to being the “presidential floor model,” as Bill had always called him because of his dark good looks and commanding charisma. As liberal and dovish as Dorn had proven to be, Troy still had to respect the man’s courage and dedication to country. The nation had gotten a tremendous emotional boost watching him walk back into the White House two days ago on television, even if it had been slowly and with the help of an aide on either side.
The president had been in the process of shutting down Red Cell Seven before the assassination attempt, but that and the massive explosion of a huge liquefied natural gas tanker only ten miles off the coast of Virginia at almost the same moment as the shooting had apparently changed his thinking. If the tanker had reached the shoreline, countless thousands in Norfolk and Virginia Beach would have died. Thankfully, two Navy fighter jets scrambled out of the Norfolk naval base had destroyed the ship before it churned close enough for the terrorists commanding the craft to blow it up and inflict their devastation.
Thanks to Jack, Troy thought. Jack was the one who’d uncovered the LNG plot, and a lot of people had him to thank for their lives — though they didn’t know it. Then Maddux had taken his revenge, the bastard.
“Hello, Mr. President.”
Though Dorn looked better to Troy, his breathing was still measured and a little shallow. His movements were deliberate, and though he was trying hard to seem energetic, it was obvious that he was tired — physically and emotionally.
“Hello, Troy.” Dorn smiled up warmly as they shook hands, then he gestured over his shoulder. “Guys, that’s Connie. She’s here to take the reins of power in case I expire unexpectedly.”
Connie nodded stiffly to Troy and Bill, obviously not enjoying her momentary celebrity status or the president’s remark. “Hello.”
Dorn grinned wryly. “She thinks I came back to the White House too soon.”
He waved to her and then at the door. “Give us a few moments, please.”
Connie glanced nervously at the bed and the table beside it. “Mr. President, I’m not supposed to leave you at any—”
“Connie, if I collapse these men will get you back in here very quickly. They don’t want my death on their shoulders either, okay?”
“Yes, sir.”
“But don’t go far.”
“No, sir.”
“And over there,” the president went on, pointing at the man who was sitting in a wingback chair a few feet away, “is Stewart Baxter, my new chief of staff.”
“We met Stewart at Walter Reed a few weeks ago,” Bill reminded Dorn. “He was there that day we came to see you.”
“Oh, right, of course.” Dorn’s grin faded as he watched Connie leave the Oval Office. “Stewart is replacing Rex Stein, God rest his soul.”
Baxter had a full head of snow-white hair, but other than that and a few shallow lines at the corners of his thin-lipped mouth, he looked extremely fit for a man who was almost sixty. His skin had a healthy glow to it, and there was no paunch above his belt.
“Hello, Stewart,” Troy said in a friendly tone as they shook hands. Baxter’s expression was locked in an arrogant smirk, as it had been at the hospital. “Good to see you again.” Baxter had a reputation in Washington as a man who got things done. Still, not many people liked him. Troy understood why. He gave off a very negative vibe. “I trust you’ve been well.”
“Did I meet you that day?” Baxter asked as if he wasn’t really interested, not bothering to get up from his chair to shake hands. “I remember your father but not you.”
Impossible, Troy figured. It hadn’t been that long since they’d met, and an Oval Office chief of staff was trained to remember everyone. Baxter was simply trying to establish dominance. It seemed like everyone in Washington was always doing that. Like everyone here was part of some inept wolf pack. It was one of the main reasons Troy hated this city. Everything here was about image, not results.