“What about the media?” Julia asked. “We could just call every television station in town, tell them what’s going to happen. They would send enough camera trucks that the Secret Service would have to react.”
“Right now I don’t know — the country’s ready to fall apart at the seams. Even just hinting at what’s really going on might start a panic,” Chapel pointed out.
“So what do you want me to do?” Angel asked.
“We’re going to have to do this the old-fashioned way — in person. So we need to know where Patrick Norton will be during the speech,” Chapel said. “That’s going to be tough to find out. If he’s the designated survivor, they’ll have him somewhere secure, and part of that is not putting the location on his public agenda. But a guy like that can’t stop working, even for an hour. He’ll need to bring an entourage with him, have special communications arrangements made… there’ll be a trail. Look for public buildings in D.C. that are scrambling to upgrade their phone lines, maybe. Look at his staffers’ blogs and twitter feeds, see if they give anything away.”
“I’ll try,” Angel said. She shook her head. “I’ve got limited access here, but—”
Hollingshead placed a hand on her shoulder and squeezed. “If anyone can do it,” he said, “it’s you, dear. You’ll do fine.”
Angel looked up at him with desperate hope in her eyes. Like she really wanted to believe him. Then she reached up and grasped his hand.
And then — incredibly — Hollingshead responded. Stroking her hair and cupping her cheek with one hand.
Chapel felt his jaw starting to drop, but instead of saying anything, he gestured for Julia and Wilkes to follow him out of the room. When the door was closed behind them, he said, “What exactly did I just see?”
Wilkes belched on cue. “Looks like maybe the director’s got a girlfriend.”
Julia shook her head. “No — no. She told us she isn’t into that kind of thing. And anyway, he’s nearly three times her age.”
“Who was it said power was the ultimate aphrodisiac?” Wilkes asked. “Spiro Agnew or some dude like that?”
“It was Kissinger, but forget it — there’s no way the two of them are — are—” Chapel found he couldn’t even say the words. He kept remembering, though, how Angel had reacted every time Hollingshead was in danger. Like she would give anything to keep him safe. None of it added up. “Anyway. It doesn’t matter. We don’t have time to stand here gossiping. We need to make plans.”
Wilkes nodded. “Yeah, okay. The big problem I see right now is what we do once we know where Norton’s gonna be. If he’s a designated survivor, he’s gonna have T-men all over his butt, making sure nobody gets close to him. How do we get close?”
Chapel exhaled deeply. “It’s not going to be easy. But maybe I have an idea there. I need to make a phone call.”
Traffic in Washington was more insane than usual that morning. It seemed a lot of people were heading into town to hear the president’s speech.
“I don’t get this,” Angel said, keeping her head low as if to avoid the early sun coming through the car windows. “It’s not like they’re going to let all these people into the Capitol.”
Julia had been keeping an eye on the news feeds all morning. “They’re going to set up loudspeakers on the Mall. Everyone’s supposed to gather there. People are really worried about what’s going on — not just in California, but everywhere. They know something big is coming.”
All of them were surprised, however, when they saw the sheer number of people who had made their way to Capitol Hill. The Mall was packed with them, standing shoulder to shoulder — huge knots of them carrying signs and chanting for public order, hundreds of them sitting on folding chairs and drinking coffee from thermoses — whole multitudes just milling around aimlessly, looks of desperate expectation on their faces.
“They really think one speech is going to turn things around?” Wilkes asked.
It was Hollingshead who answered. “People crave leadership in times of crisis. It’s what Norton is counting on. If his attack succeeds, these people will accept anyone who claims to be in charge — no matter how brutal or dictatorial — because it means safety for their families. No, they don’t expect a speech to save them. But they do expect a president to be there for them, to make things right.”
Chapel nodded to himself, but he was busy scanning the streets around the Mall. “Angel,” he said, “what do you need? A coffee shop with Wi-Fi? Or something more?”
“An Internet café might do,” she said, frowning. “I’d say we should use one of the Smithsonian buildings; those have good libraries and that means solid Ethernet connections, but—”
“But they’re also going to have a lot of security,” Chapel agreed. “Especially today. Okay, Internet café it is.” He worked the car’s GPS unit. “Great. There’s one pretty close — except it’s on the far side of this crowd. It’ll take another hour to get around them all, an hour we don’t have.”
“It’s okay,” Julia said. “We can walk across — on foot we can get through them.”
“Speak for yourself,” Angel said, her eyes bright with sudden panic.
There really wasn’t any choice, though. Wilkes pulled over on a cross street and let the two women out. He held out his hand to Chapel, who shook it heartily, and then the marine got out as well. “I’ll keep them safe,” he said.
“You’d better,” Chapel told him. Then he scooted over into the driver’s seat. From the backseat Hollingshead watched him in the rearview mirror.
“You sure you want to go through with this, sir?” Chapel asked. “I can intercept Norton myself.”
There’d been a great deal of discussion about how they would handle Norton if they could get to him. Wilkes had wanted to assassinate the man, of course. Chapel had wanted to exfiltrate him back to the safe house where they could hold him in the cellar room with Charlotte Holman until both could be brought to justice. Hollingshead had his own idea. He said he wanted to talk to Norton. Reason with him.
Chapel had no idea what the director hoped to achieve. But he was still the boss.
“I’m sure, son,” Hollingshead replied.
Chapel put the car in gear and got moving again.
The noise and the press of bodies got overwhelming as soon as they pushed their way onto the Mall — even for Julia, who was used to the crush of New York City, this was bad. She worried about Angel, but she knew they had to get across.
Somewhere close by someone was playing an acoustic guitar, belting out an old Bob Marley song about people loving each other. From the other side came the noise of chanters demanding the government reduce the cost of bread and milk immediately. A woman with no top on but with her breasts painted like butterflies came running past and nearly knocked Julia down. She was followed in quick succession by three young men with video cameras and iPads.
Inside the throng of people you couldn’t see the roads, you couldn’t see the Capitol building — you could barely tell which direction you were headed. You could see arms raised against the blue sky and you could see a lot of feet moving in every direction. Julia reached backward and grabbed Angel’s hand while Wilkes moved ahead, steamrollering his way through the crowd.
Angel didn’t look good. She was pale and she squinted as if the sun hurt her eyes. “Are we almost there?” she asked.
“Almost,” Julia lied. She smelled cooking food and then nearly stepped in somebody’s hibachi. Looked like they were making tofu burgers, she thought. Someone shouted right in her ear, but she just kept moving, pushing forward. Wilkes did a good job of making a hole for her — nobody wanted to get in his way — but still sometimes she had to squeeze between people who didn’t want to move, who cursed at her and refused to move.