“It’s nothing,” he said gruffly, pressing the second floor button.
By the time they reached the second floor and home of the President, Frankie was worried. Bill was her mentor. He had guided her through the ranks, taken her under his wing, seeing the potential in her. He had never been like this with her before.
The tension that had built up on the short journey from the first floor exploded out into the hallway when Bill exited and ushered them to follow him. He paused outside of the President’s study. Opposite the study, across the East Sitting Hall, was the Queen’s Sitting Room, the door to which opened and revealed the Director of the FBI and his boss, the Attorney General.
“Deputy Director Turner, Special Agent Reid,” said the FBI Director, summoning them towards him.
Frankie stood in place next to Bill.
“We have a meeting with President Mitchell,” said Turner, standing firmly beside Frankie.
“Not anymore,” said the FBI Director.
“It’s okay, guys, I’ll do my best,” she said, letting them be beckoned away.
Once left alone with Frankie, Bill walked forward towards the door that led through to the President’s study, opening it gently.
“I’m so sorry, Frankie,” he said quietly.
Secretary of Defense Harry Carson was seated at the President’s desk and alongside him sat the Director of the Secret Service. There was no sign of President Mitchell.
Frankie’s heart started to thump.
“Please come in, Frankie,” beckoned Harry.
Fifteen minutes later, Frankie was walking back out of the White House for what would be her very last time. She had managed to avoid crying while in the room but as she exited the residence, the tears flowed freely. Reid ran over when she saw Frankie’s heaving body exit the door.
“We realized you were still in there, so we waited for you,” she said, holding Frankie as she sobbed. “What happened?”
“I’m no longer a Secret Service agent.”
Turner walked over to join them. “What do you mean?” he asked angrily. “You’re an excellent agent!”
“They decided that my relationship with Nick Geller was detrimental to the Agency and suggested I may wish to consider my position.”
“Carson, that son of a bitch!”
“He did look upset at having to do it,” she said through sobs. “Sorry, what about you guys?”
“Reassigned with immediate effect. I’ve got a flight to Miami waiting for me and Special Agent Reid is going to LA.”
“Well good luck to both of you,” she said trying to smile. “You okay for transport?” she asked, pointing to her car.
“Yes, thanks. Will you be alright?” asked Reid, fussing over her.
“I’ll be fine, it’s just sad, I loved the job.”
Reid kissed her on the cheek and hugged her. “Keep in touch, Frankie.”
“Yes,” said Frankie, knowing she’d never see either of them again.
With a kiss and an awkward hug, Paul Turner wished her well and he and Reid walked towards the government sedan waiting to take them to the airport.
“By the way, you’d make a great couple,” Frankie called after them with a grin.
“Frankie!” yelled Harry Carson, as he walked out of the White House entrance. “I was hoping you might still be here!”
“What?’ she asked, wiping the tears from her eyes.
“I wanted to give you this,” he said, handing her a card.
Frankie looked at it grudgingly. “Obstetrician?”
“He’s very good, probably one of the best.”
“He’s in Colorado!” she said angrily.
“I don’t think you should stay in Washington,” Carson said evenly.
“Am I in danger?”
Harry shrugged. “For you and the child, please take the card.”
“How do you know him?”
“I don’t, this is from President Mitchell,” said Harry. “He’s already called ahead. The doctor’s expecting you.”
“Am I danger?” she asked again.
“I don’t know but if you are, it’s here, not there,” he said, pointing to the card.
“What are you doing, Harry?”
“I’m making sure your child grows up safe.”
“The child that will have the genes of a man responsible for tens of thousands of deaths?”
Harry turned without a word and walked towards his waiting car. It pulled away with a screech of tires, leaving Frankie to look back on her past.
Chapter 84
Walid boarded his flight with ease. Like Nick, he had an upper cabin business-class seat. Unlike Nick, he was a little more interested in aircraft. The fact that he had boarded a Boeing 747–400 was not missed on him. Unlike almost every other jihadist, Walid had spent his life traveling the world, if not by private jet, certainly in the first class confines of the world’s better airlines. It was to be his first trip on US Airways and he had looked forward to seeing what comforts would take him across to America.
The aircraft listed for the Charlotte flight was an Airbus A330-200, of which he had noticed at least one on his way into the terminal. There had been no mention of the airline owning or even operating Boeing 747-400s. Envoy Class, the US Airways business class, was a cubicle-style seat with the ability to lie flat, a large screen TV and a selection of excellent on demand newly released movies. What he had, however, was a business class seat from a decade earlier, with a small screen that was almost unwatchable due to a large number of scratches and a movie selection that was playing on a loop, something he hadn’t experienced for a very long time.
“Excuse me?” he asked the steward, a man he recognized from the check-in desks.
“Yes, sir?” said the steward courteously.
“When did US Airways get 747s and why are they so poorly kitted out?”
“I’m sorry, sir, they’ve been rushed into service today to replace a number of aircraft that had to be grounded due to a recall by Airbus.”
“There’s an Airbus there,” Walid said, pointing down to the aircraft next to them.
“I believe the recall only affected about 30 % of our fleet,” replied the steward.
“This isn’t what I paid for,” Walid snapped, realizing as he spoke that he hadn’t actually paid for any of it. Some unsuspecting company had paid for it.
“We’re aware that it’s not up to our normal standards, sir. If you call customer service on arrival, I believe compensation will be offered. Can I get you a drink perhaps? Champagne or orange juice?”
“Orange juice,” said Walid. Something felt… off. He thought back over the odd occurrences: The boards were not displaying the correct gate; the area for check-in was very large; the steward who had been on the check-in desk was standing in front of him now. He knew the airlines were cutting costs — particularly the US legacy airlines — but that seemed ridiculous.
The steward walked towards the small kitchen area where a colleague had watched the interaction with the passenger.
“What was that about?”
“This fucking plane!” he snapped, pouring an orange juice.
“Thank God somebody spotted the fuck up and sent us through the script to cover it.”
“I know but how fucking hard can it be to check an airline flies a particular type of aircraft?” he whispered, before turning back to the passengers with a fixed smile, just as he had been trained in the last few months.
Omar woke up when the plane lurched in the sky. The passengers next to him were as alarmed as he was. Omar had never been on a plane before and it was therefore his first experience of turbulence. The announcement over the P.A. system did not give him any comfort. He had not been taught, as part of his training for boarding the flight, what the word ‘turbulence’ meant. Another lurch and he quietly prayed to Allah, which the passenger next to him copied. They both nodded recognition but dared not say another word. They were both warriors of Allah. He wondered whether the man next to him knew that he would be, thanks to sitting next to Omar, one of the special select warriors, chosen to deliver the virus across America.