Before the guard received an answer, Flynn jumped down from the rafters and onto the guard’s back. In one fell swoop, he broke the guard’s neck and watched the man slump to the floor. He then scurried back up into the room’s rafters.
One of the remaining guards called out and waited. Receiving no reply from his comrade, he rushed into the room.
Natalie screamed again as she shifted her glare toward the guard lying on the floor next to her. Again Flynn descended, breaking the man’s neck. However, he struggled enough to alert the other guard that something wasn’t right.
When the lone remaining guard charged into the room, Flynn was ready. He had lifted two guns off the dead guards and readied himself.
The final guard never saw his two fallen comrades before succumbing to his own death in a hail of bullets. Flynn hated dragging out confrontations, especially when they were easy to end. He glanced at Natalie, who looked like she might throw up.
“Being a spy isn’t easy,” he said. “This is the part of the job that’s hard to take.”
Sullen, Natalie sat on the floor, staring at the sudden body count that resulted from Flynn’s plan.
“It’ll be all right,” he said. “They got what was coming to them.”
“What if they could’ve helped you and given you more information about what they were up to?” she asked.
“They already did.”
He offered Natalie his hand to help her up. She reached for it and was instantly pulled to her feet.
There was still no sign of Ivan.
Flynn spent the next fifteen minutes taking pictures and videos of the building from one of the dead guard’s phones. It would be valuable for law enforcement to determine the organization’s next move — assuming Flynn didn’t figure it out first.
CHAPTER 36
Sandford walked into the cabinet meeting and closed the doors behind him. He had been in debates that were less contentious than the one going on in the room he now presided over. Despite his best efforts to ignore the buzz of staffers in the hall, Sandford understood the situation, ruled by chaos and confusion. Some staffers quietly whispered how Sandford could take over the White House like he did. Others wondered aloud who was behind the assassination attempt, questioning if it was an inside job. All the while, television and radio reports being monitored depicted nothing short of anarchy outside the Capitol steps. Protesters had already taken to the streets, demanding the U.S. strike whoever did this to their Commander-in-Chief. While no group had claimed responsibility, based on the signs toted by angry citizens, the instigators ranged from Middle Eastern terrorist organizations to Syria, Iran, China and Russia. It was clear nobody understood the situation at hand. And neither did Sandford.
He poured himself a glass of water before assuming the chair previously occupied by President Briggs. Sinking into the leather chair, Sandford felt good. Whatever was going on was his problem now — and he was going to fix it. But he first needed to create solidarity with Briggs’ cabinet members.
“I want to thank you all for your work during these extenuating circumstances,” Sandford began. “It’s never easy to thrive under duress, but that’s what we’re under right now. I trust you’re all aware of the current situation.”
That was the last moment Sandford felt any sense of control in the meeting, for the next five minutes resembled an unmoderated Crossfire debate more than a room full of experts serving at the pleasure of the President. Fingers pointed, wagged and even formed crass gestures. Accusations flew around the room. Words like “coup” and “anarchy” and “unpatriotic” filled the air. This was no cabinet meeting aimed at gaining control of the situation — this was a hive of political partisanship where the worker bees were eating their own. If I can’t control the cabinet, how am I going to control this country?
Sandford stood up and slammed his palms on the desk.
“Enough!” he screamed. The room immediately fell silent. At least they respect anger.
“The President asked you to serve on this cabinet, but nobody here seems to be able to do that. I suggest if you want to maintain your position here, you need to stop with these shenanigans and do what you’re supposed to do: give me advice on how to proceed. Otherwise, I’ll replace you with someone who will.”
Sandford’s control grab worked, creating a more cooperative environment. But it didn’t take long before the meeting grew tenser.
“Our final item is to talk about what’s going on in Russia,” Sandford said. “I’ve read reports from Homeland Security that not only are the Russians building more missile silos in Siberia but they’re also pointing some at us right now. I think we need to show them that we won’t be intimidated.”
Sandford’s suggestion was met by some resistance, as the doves in the room pleaded against using any force, much less showing some. The hawks created an echo chamber for Sandford’s idea, urging him to do what President Briggs lacked the fortitude to do. The ensuing debate caused an uproar that rivaled the early minutes of the meeting.
This time, Sandford pounded his fist on the table, quieting the room once again.
“Thank you for your input,” he said. “I’ve made my decision. We’re going to show Russia that we mean business.”
With that, he thanked everyone for attending the meeting before dismissing them.
It’s time somebody with some real guts led this country.
Sandford wished he didn’t need the near death of the President to gain access to his power. But such were the casualties of war. This was war, too. Sandford couldn’t be convinced otherwise. Russia had been needling the U.S. for far too long and shirking any attempt at diplomatic relations. On the international stage, Russian president Ruslan Petrov made Briggs look like a fool. Not me. They’re going to wish they never picked a fight they couldn’t win.
Sandford was going to launch missiles at Russia. They were going to pay for whatever they did to his daughter.
Diane Dixon exited the room, seething at what just happened. The Secretary of Education was not about to let President Briggs’ decision to err on the side of diplomacy take a backseat to the hawkish Vice President.
She dialed a number on her cell phone as she retreated into a private office down the hall.
“We need to talk,” Dixon said.
“What’s going on?” the woman on the other end of the line said.
“Briggs is about to start a war with the Russians — and you’re the only person who can stop it.”
CHAPTER 36
Flynn and Natalie made their way to the subway and headed toward Grand Central to take a train back to Washington. Unwilling to risk being apprehended, Flynn decided railway was the easiest and quickest way to escape the city. After all, he had immobilized a federal agent — and that wouldn’t be looked upon too kindly, even if it did garner results.
“What’s going to happen now?” Natalie asked as they stepped inside their private car on a train headed toward the nation’s capital.
“You are going to find some place where the Kuklovod can’t find you — I don’t know — a long lost friend or a distant relative. I don’t care who, but someone who isn’t going to be easy to trace back to you. Understand?”
Natalie nodded. She stared out the window. The blank look on her face told Flynn the trauma of the past few days disturbed her, to say the least. This isn’t exactly the way to impress a woman. She’s probably wondering if it will be like this forever.
She wasn’t the only one wondering that. Flynn tried to imagine any scenario where the Kuklovod would give up on him and just let him live his life. They had before — but that was only because he hadn’t uncovered their plot to incite a war between the U.S. and Russia. Now, Flynn proved to be an even bigger liability. They couldn’t just let him go get on television and broadcast such plans to the public now that he had more detailed firsthand knowledge. They would make every effort to silence him, if not for his intelligence, for murdering three of their operatives — though Flynn wondered if they were simply freelancers. Either way, he wasn’t safe. And neither was Natalie.