It took Mixell only a few seconds to analyze the situation and come to a conclusion: somehow, his plot had been discovered. Even if he was wrong and the lockdown had been ordered for a different reason — although what were the odds of that — he would likely be discovered if his delivery to the White House was scrutinized.
He had completed the most difficult part of his mission, delivering the C-4 eggs to the White House. What remained was straightforward — depart and detonate the C-4. He briefly considered pulling his cell phone out and detonating the eggs beside him; the president was in the White House and assassinating him would be a monumental achievement, whether Mixell lived to celebrate it or not. But he decided not to give up so easily.
His Secret Service Uniformed Division escort had a hand to his earpiece, listening to a transmission, his attention temporarily distracted from the Gordon’s Wholesale delivery man standing nearby. Mixell moved swiftly, levying a vicious blow to the man’s Adam’s apple with one hand as he unfastened the security strap of the pistol holster at his waist with the other. As the man staggered backward a step, grabbing his throat, Mixell pulled the pistol from its holster, leveling it at the man.
There was one other person in the kitchen — an assistant cook, it seemed. She stood frozen in place as Mixell backed up to keep her and the officer in view. Mixell gestured toward the walk-in freezer.
“Inside.”
Neither person moved.
“Now,” Mixell snarled, “unless you want to eat a bullet.”
The officer moved slowly toward the freezer and the cook joined him. The freezer was opened and the officer and cook stepped inside, staring at Mixell as the door was closed. Then he jammed the handle with a kitchen utensil to ensure the door couldn’t be opened from inside.
Mixell attempted to slide the officer’s pistol into his pants pocket, but the pistol grip wouldn’t fit, which was fine with Mixell. He decided to hide the grip with his hand wrapped around it, which kept it ready for any encounters as he worked his way toward the nearest White House exit.
There was no one in the hallway, so Mixell moved swiftly, backtracking his path through the White House. He was only a few strides from turning into an adjacent corridor when a man and woman burst into the hallway at the next intersection. He immediately recognized the woman — Christine O’Connor — plus what looked like a Secret Service agent accompanying her.
He decided to keep moving toward the intersection, hoping Christine wouldn’t realize who he was and that he wouldn’t be challenged for not staying in place as ordered over the White House speakers. He’d just pretend to be a dumb delivery man, wanting to stay on schedule with his next delivery. Unfortunately, when Christine’s gaze settled on him, he noticed a flicker of recognition in her eyes.
The jig was up.
Mixell withdrew his pistol and fired at the Secret Service agent, putting a bullet in his head. As the man collapsed to the ground, Mixell shifted the pistol toward Christine, who froze in place.
“Hello, Chris,” he said. “Fancy meeting you here.”
“Lonnie, we know what you’re planning. Don’t do this.”
Mixell ignored her plea as he moved toward her, keeping his pistol aimed at her head. When he reached Christine, he grabbed her by the neck and slammed her into the wall.
“I’ve laid awake at night, plotting how to get past your protective agents. And today, you waltz into my grasp.” He placed the pistol barrel against her head. “How many bullets did you put into me at Jake’s house?”
“Not enough.”
Mixell smiled. “True. Very true.”
Their conversation was interrupted as two more Secret Service agents entered the hallway from the next intersection, their weapons drawn. Mixell jerked Christine in front of him, keeping the pistol barrel pressed against her head, with one arm wrapped around her body. Both agents halted, their weapons aimed in Mixell’s direction, while one of the agents reported the situation over the microphone inside his shirt sleeve cuff.
Mixell backed up toward the intersection leading to the exit, keeping Christine between him and the agents, occasionally glancing behind him.
“Who’s the coward now,” Christine asked, “hiding behind a woman? Didn’t you chastise Jake for doing the same thing with your soulmate?”
Christine’s question — accusing him of being a coward — made Mixell’s blood boil. There wasn’t anyone besides Jake who knew him better, and she was pushing his buttons. He did his best to let the anger dissipate.
“Shut up, Chris. Every time you open your mouth, you make your death more painful.”
She pressed her lips together. “Hmm,” she replied.
Mixell felt her body tense, and he knew she was planning something. She was still quite athletic, as she had proven in the barn at Harrison’s house a few months ago, and he felt her firm body as his arm pulled her close against him.
“Don’t even think about trying anything,” he said. “I swear to God, if you so much as twitch, I’ll pull the trigger.”
He felt Christine’s body relax somewhat. “Alright, Lonnie,” she said. “I’ll play along as your hostage. I’m interested in seeing how this plays out. You didn’t plan on being discovered, so let’s see how you weasel your way out of here.”
“What did I say about you opening your mouth?” He pressed the pistol barrel more firmly against her head. “Besides,” he said, “I’ve got an extremely valuable hostage — the director of the CIA.”
It was a short distance from the hallway to the exit, and they reached it before other Secret Service agents or uniformed officers entered. However, a quick glance after cracking the door open revealed about a dozen agents and officers in strategic positions outside the White House, plus more moving into position.
Mixell’s van wasn’t far away, but he would be in the open during the short journey to the vehicle. Even with Christine pressed against him, she would block only half of the agents. There would be others behind him with a clear shot, if they were willing to take it while Mixell had a pistol pressed against the CIA director’s head.
After considering his options, Mixell devised a plan.
He called out, “I promise to release the CIA director, unharmed, once I’m safely away. All you need to do is drive the Gordon’s Wholesale van up to this door. The keys are in the van.”
When there was no response, Mixell directed Christine to reiterate his command.
Christine pressed her lips together again. “Hmm… hmm,” she replied.
“Very funny,” Mixell replied. “You’re allowed to talk now. Tell the agents and officers to do as I’ve directed.”
“They don’t work for me.”
“I know that,” Mixell growled. “But if you don’t prove your worth as a hostage, you’re worthless to me and I’m stuck here. Do you know what happens next?”
“I can do the math.”
“Then you better start talking.”
“How’s this — I’ll have them bring the van up and let us go, after they’ve verified the White House has been evacuated? The president is already safely away, and once everyone else is safe, it’s just a building. You can blow it up if you want.”
“You’re not in any position to negotiate.”
“Actually, I am.” Christine twisted her head toward Mixell, so she could look him in the eye. “If you want to leave here in anything but a body bag or handcuffs, you’ll need my help.”
“Fine!” Mixell replied. “Just get the van up here and have them agree to let us go.”
Christine called out to the Secret Service agents and police officers, repeating Mixell’s demands, and after a few rounds of back and forth followed by a moment of silence, a Secret Service agent replied.