“Thank you, Stacy. I’m wondering if you could be a dear and fetch my pen from the car?”
“Of course, Mr. President.” Stacy was grateful for an excuse to miss the man’s grand entrance, though his need to flaunt his ridiculously expensive possessions – and at a funeral, no less – sickened her. The pen in question cost north of a thousand dollars.
As the ushers opened the doors, the funeral guests reluctantly struggled to their feet, trying in vain to give the president the respect he felt was due him. Simon strolled down the aisle with an air of regal haughtiness and took his seat on the front row.
Regional Governor Jackson Butler was sitting on the second row, closest to the outside aisle. He was pleased with himself, delighted to be keeping a secret to which only one other guest was privy. He knew it was juvenile but he couldn’t help himself. If the people in this room had a clue as to why they were really here, they’d be filled with rage. Glancing down the pew, Jackson spotted Roberto Jimenez sitting nearby. Jackson loathed the crusty old geezer with every fiber of his being. He glared at Jimenez in pure contempt as the president took the podium. The asshole’s mere presence was enough to infuriate him. Jackson took notice as the nervous looking gentleman sitting next to Jimenez stood awkwardly in the aisle. What is wrong with this weirdo? Why the fuck is he getting up in the middle of the president’s speech? Sweat glistened on the man’s face as he headed toward the exit. As Jackson turned around in his seat, he saw the man take a small electronic device from his pocket. Car keys? No, he didn’t drive here.
Oh shit! He’s about to detonate the bomb!
Jackson burst from his seat and sprinted to the stage. The president’s protection detail squared up against him, effectively blocking his path.
“BOMB! BOMB! BOMB!”
The security detail reacted instantaneously. They lifted the president off his feet, carrying him to the baptistery. Once they cleared the steps, they threw the president in the murky water. Jackson dove to the floor and curled up in the fetal position against the wall.
The small explosive device strapped to Roberto Jimenez’s wheelchair detonated, instantly killing the family of James Weygandt, Supreme Commander Carl Moody, and the six regional governors in the audience.
Several states away, Charles waited quietly in his vehicle. As his phone vibrated, he tapped his headset.
“It’s done.”
Charles smiled. “Dispose of Mr. Everton and his family. Did the nurse survive?”
“Yes.”
“Dispose of him as well.”
“I’ll take care of it.”
“Tell our mutual friend we’re ready to proceed with the final phase of the plan.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“Holy shit! What in the hell was that?” Jessica Bradley, Benjamin Black’s top lieutenant, was on a rooftop two blocks from the church. The blast had blown out all the windows in the front of the building and shattered car windows for blocks in every direction.
Her partner, Robert Mathias, was face down on the roof, his hands protecting his head. “Fuck! Are we being bombed? Let’s get the hell outta here before we get killed!”
Benjamin Black had sent the pair on an eight hour trip through the Florida wasteland to the church on the off chance that some lucky opportunity would present itself. Jessica had a knack for sneaking around the Florida swamps, and her skills proved useful for infiltrating the perimeter around the church. Robert had a high-powered sniper rifle and was under strict orders to shoot Simon Sterling if he was foolish enough to present himself as a target.
Jessica and Robert watched as a limousine and three black SUVs raced away from the building. Before they could plan their next move, a man appeared on the street below them, chasing after the now distant motorcade. “Stop, Mr. President, don’t leave me! I’m alive! I’m alive!”
“Is that who I think it is?” asked Robert.
“Yeah, that’s Jackson Butler.
“Mr. President, are you okay? What happened? What was that?”
“I’m fine, Stacy, I’m fine. My ears are ringing a little, but I’m fine. I don’t know how Jackson knew something was about to happen, but he did. If he hadn’t rushed the stage and warned my security detail, I might not have gotten out of there in time.”
“I’m glad you’re okay. Did Jackson make it out?”
“I have no idea. Driver! Pull over, right now!”
“I can’t do that Mr. President, we have to get you to the security checkpoint.”
“How much longer?”
“ETA, two minutes.”
“Mr. President, are you sure you’re okay?”
“I can’t believe those blockheads ruined my new suit! Why did they have to throw me in that slimy, germ-ridden water? No telling what kind of diseases I caught in there!”
“It probably saved your life, Mr. President,” said the driver. “Being submerged in water lessens the impact of the shockwave.”
“It took me four weeks to get this suit from Italy! It’s ruined!”
I’d like it better if you were wearing the suit when it’s burned, thought Stacy.
The entry point to the funeral perimeter was the headquarters for the Miami-Dade Metro Police Department. The president was being held in the armory since it was the most secure room in the building. The room had a master lock inside the room, so the armorer could remain inside and keep it secure from outsiders.
“Mr. President, what happened?” asked Stacy.
“Roberto’s nurse got up just as I began speaking. I couldn’t believe he had the nerve. Jackson must have seen him do something suspicious because he stormed the stage and warned my detail.”
“Did Jackson make it out?”
“I don’t know. It all happened so fast.”
“It’s okay. You need to relax for a minute. I’m going to find out what happened. Just take it easy, and I’ll come back with some answers.”
“Thank you, my dear.”
Stop calling me dear, you bastard.
Stacy was relieved to get out of the room but knew her respite would be a brief one. Digging in her purse for the buried Xanax bottled, Stacy took a few precious minutes to review the situation and plan her next step. If Howard Beck was responsible for the attack and didn’t warn her, she would have to accept the fact that Howard was willing to kill her along with Simon Sterling. The sacrifice was worth it. One thing was certain: more than half of the regional governors were dead. The UAE was crippled - no, it was dying - given what had just happened. Stacy knew she had the chance to put an end to this nightmare – right here, right now. She had precious few minutes to act.
Stacy looked around for a weapon. Anything would do: a pistol, rifle, shotgun. It didn’t matter. At first, her room-to-room search turned up nothing useful. At the end of the hall she hit the jackpot: an otherwise empty room now being used by the troops to stage their gear! Stacy tore through crates and backpacks, certain that someone must have left something behind. Then she saw it – a duty belt complete with holstered gun.
Stacy reentered the armory, a terrified look on her face. The two security officers look concerned; the president appeared terrified
“What? What’s going on, Stacy?” the president asked, obviously frightened.
Stacy looked at the armed guards. “They need one of you up front. The lobby is under attack! Hurry! I’ll lock the door behind you! Go!”
The security officer turned to his partner for approval. “Stay here. Don’t open this door no matter what!”