As he watched, a drop of blood dangled from the edge of one of those holes. It grew larger and larger and then it fell to splash on the floor right next to where Chapel lay.
He didn’t waste any more time. He got to his feet — which made his new wounds burn like fire, and his old, Wilkes-inflicted gunshot wound flare up like a smoldering ember — and staggered up the stairs, as fast as he possibly could.
At the top he found the shooter staring up at him, one hand reaching toward the stairs. One of Chapel’s shots had gone through the bottom of the shooter’s chin and out again through the top of his head.
The man was dead.
Chapel kicked his pistol away, back down the stairs, just to be safe. Then he started down the hall, toward the room where they were keeping Hollingshead.
Judging by the trail of blood he left behind him, he knew he’d better make this quick.
When they hadn’t heard any gunshots in a while, Norton smiled. “That was your man, I think. The one we heard scream.”
Hollingshead hoped not. For everyone’s sake, he sincerely hoped not. “Then I suppose all is lost. I came here on a fool’s errand and threw away the life of my last asset. And, ah, well, of course — my own.”
“Looks that way,” Norton told him.
“Then — since it no longer matters — maybe you can fill me in on a few details. Assuming, of course, that you aren’t needed elsewhere.”
Norton shook his head. “No, I’m fine right here. I’m expecting a phone call a little after nine o’clock. From the president. Until then my schedule is clear.”
Hollingshead nodded. “Very good. A call from the president. And here I assumed your coup required that the man was dead. You set things up so you would be the designated survivor, then put most of the executive branch in one room—”
Norton waved a hand dismissively. “I had no idea I was going to be the survivor. I never planned to hurt anyone at that level.”
“Then why — I’m sorry, I find myself baffled. Not that I wish to give you any ideas, but — why not? Why not assassinate the president, now that he’s basically given you the perfect opportunity?”
“Because what you accused me of — of fomenting a military coup — that’s impossible in America.”
“Indeed?”
“Yeah. Aaron Burr tried it all the way back in 1807, and he failed. Douglas MacArthur and Alex Haig both considered it, I think — though neither of them went far enough for there to be any proof. I like to think they figured out the same thing I did. You can’t pull off a military coup in America because we’re a nation of loudmouths.” He laughed. “You know how many people would have to be in on such a thing? How many generals and colonels and majors I’d have to swing over to my side? And if even one of them decided they didn’t like my scheme, all they would have to do would be to make one phone call and I’d be in the stockades by dinnertime. Forget it. And even if I could get all those officers on my side, what about the actual soldiers? American soldiers are the best trained and best equipped in history. They’re also the best educated. You really think there’s a single private anywhere in the army who would shoot the president because I asked him to? No, they know their rights too well. They would just refuse.”
“I can’t say it’s something I’d considered before,” Hollingshead said.
Norton got up and paced around the room, waving his arms in the air as he spoke. “No, a coup was out of the question. Anyway, why would I want to be chief executive? The second I declared myself president for life, the UN would be on my ass. China and Russia would send their navies to blockade our ports. There would be no shortage of Americans calling for me to step down, and no shortage of self-styled patriots willing to martyr themselves if it meant they got a good shot at me.”
“So you don’t want to be in charge,” Hollingshead said. “You don’t want power. Despite everything you said about great men taking control of history.”
“Oh, I’m going to have the power. But I’m going to stay anonymous at the same time. I’ll be the man behind the throne.”
Hollingshead squinted at the SecDef. “And how, exactly?”
“By making myself so vital to the president that he won’t dare make a move without consulting me. When this country is reduced to utter chaos — when people are running wild in the street—”
“Ah!” Hollingshead said. “Of course. It will become necessary to declare martial law. And you will, of course, most modestly and in the service of your country, agree to take charge of the military clampdown that will follow.”
“Now you’re getting it, Rupert,” Norton said, his eyes shining.
“And lo and behold, the drone attacks will stop. Your efforts to protect the nation will bear fruit and you’ll be proclaimed a hero. Except, no — they won’t quite stop, will they? Any time there’s a threat to your power, there’ll be another attack.”
“Well,” Norton pointed out, “it’s not like anyone expects you to win the war on terror.”
“Oh, of course not. And if the president begins to suspect that you engineered the entire thing?”
“Presidents only get eight years, and that’s only if they can keep the American people safe. Cabinet positions like mine can last a lifetime.”
“Ingenious,” Hollingshead said. “Perhaps so brilliant that I feel like I’m still missing one piece of the puzzle.”
“Oh?”
“I was under the impression that you were going to use a drone to attack the Capitol and kill the president. I can see how silly that idea was, now. But there was — I mean, that is to say, Charlotte told me there was one more attack coming, and — well—”
“Oh, there’s going to be a drone attack today, definitely,” Norton said. “It’s just not aimed at the Capitol building.”
“Ah.”
“No. So far we’ve managed to cause panic and fear without too much loss of life. That poor bastard at the Port of New Orleans, of course, and some people in California when the lights went out. But I’m afraid you can’t really get the American people to panic without a good old-fashioned massacre.”
Hollingshead’s eyes went very wide.
“You saw how many people are out there on the Mall, today, Rupert. Maybe a quarter million. The people who came to hear the president’s grand ideas for how to fix the present crisis. I’m not proud of this. I ordered it with a heavy heart. But I need to utterly destroy confidence in the president’s ability to control the nation. So quite a few of those people out on the Mall… well, they’re going to have to make a sacrifice for the greater good.”
While the customers inside the bakery kept checking their cell phones, Julia leaned over Angel’s shoulder and said, “What’s going on? What just happened? What about the drone?”
Angel shook her head in irritation. She looked right into Julia’s eyes, not four inches from her own, and stared until the other woman backed off. Then she grabbed up her laptop and jumped off her stool. She ducked under the counter and squeezed in between the manager and the employees back there, who protested volubly but ineffectively.
“I tried,” Angel said. “I tried! I sent the rails hot signal. I told it to drop the bombs, but… hold on.”
“Angel, report,” Wilkes demanded.
“I was locked out,” Angel said from under the counter. “I got in, I had a clear signal to the drone. The second I sent a command, though, the system knew I was there. Moulton must have expected we would try something like this.”
“He knew what?” Julia asked. She shook her head. There was no time. “You were locked out of the controls? So you didn’t drop the bombs?”