Blunt texted back that he’d try. He shoved his phone back into his pocket and glanced around. The president nor any of his Secret Service detail were anywhere to be seen.
Blunt got up and headed toward the box exit to see if he could find someone who could help. Right before he stepped into the hallway, a security guard stepped in front of Blunt and straddled the doorway. The man scowled and nodded in the direction of Blunt’s chair.
“I need to make a phone call,” Blunt said.
The guard didn’t move and slowly placed his hands on his hips, peeling back his sports coat to reveal his sidearm piece. He cut his eyes toward it, sending a not-so-subtle message.
Blunt persisted. “It’s really important,” he said in a hushed tone.
The man leaned in. “If you make one move outside of this box, I’m going usher you out permanently. Is that understood?”
Blunt spun around and took two steps toward his seat before whipping around and darting toward the exit. But the guard stepped in front and bear-hugged Blunt, wrapping him up and dragging him down the hall.
“The president is in danger,” Blunt said. “I need to warn him.”
“He’s always in danger,” the guard said with a sneer. “Now, let’s get you outta here.”
“You don’t know who you’re messing with,” Blunt said as he kicked and squirmed in an effort to break free. But it was no use. The brute wasn’t about to let anyone acting as crazy as Blunt was any distance down the hallway toward President Michaels’s box.
“Someone’s going to try and kill him tonight,” Blunt said.
“Yeah, yeah, you crazy old man,” the guard said. “Now why don’t you do us all a favor and get in bed on time tonight, okay? And don’t forget to take your meds when you wake up in the morning.”
Blunt was already stewing over the fact that he couldn’t speak with anyone in any meaningful position near the president. But then to be patronized by the thick-necked enforcer at the doorway? Blunt had little patience for such behavior, though there was nothing he could do about it in the moment.
And the moment of reckoning was fast approaching, faster than Blunt had hoped.
CHAPTER 32
Washington, D.C.
TATIANA TUGGED ON THE LACE encircling the waist of her leotard. She pulled it taut and took a deep breath. The girls all around her giggled nervously as they discussed their plans for later that evening. While the other dancers talked incessantly about everything from movies to boys they liked to school activities, Tatiana kept her distance. She didn’t want to make any missteps, especially when she was so close to completing her assignment.
“Emily, where are you going afterward?” one of the girls asked. “Would you like to join us?”
Tatiana forced a smile. “No, thank you. I have a big day tomorrow.”
“What are you doing?” another girl asked, leaning in as she awaited the answer.
Tatiana paused for a moment, pondering the quickest way to end the conversation without drawing more questions. “I have a science competition I’m going to.”
“The one in New York?” the first girl asked.
Tatiana nodded. “I think so. My mom makes all the plans, and I just go where she tells me to go.”
“I know that all too well,” one of the dancers chimed in. “My mother just has me whisked around from one activity to the next by our poor chauffeur, Reginald. The man must enjoy that car because he’s in it all day long.”
The pretentious response ignited a short game of one-upmanship between a trio of the teenage performers. But Tatiana didn’t mind, smiling as she eased into the shadows away from the prying eyes of the other dancers. She reached into her bag and took one last glance around before tucking the long knife up her sleeve.
Tatiana swallowed hard as she positioned the blade exactly as she’d practiced many times before for the general. Her ability to release and catch the knife in one fell swoop—all while driving the tip into a combatant’s neck—was her specialty. And she couldn’t wait to do it tonight for the first time. She felt an odd peace about completing the assignment. It was brutal in nature, a violent end to an operation that was mostly about getting into the right place at the right time. What she did after that was simple execution, though it’d be an actual execution that would likely be remembered in all the history books. At least, that’s what the general had said.
Tatiana had trained long and hard, all with the understanding that she was going to do something great for her country. And when she did, she could go home.
But for the first time, Tatiana pondered the thought of what might happen if she didn’t succeed.
A few minutes later, the instructor summoned the dancers. The girls remained offstage, running through the routine quickly before their scheduled appearance on the main stage.
As she prepared for her first grand jeté, one of the stagehands stopped Tatiana, pulling her out of the rhythm of the dance. She looked down at the man’s hand, which had wrapped around her bicep and was squeezing her.
“Owww,” Tatiana said, ripping her arm away from the man.
“I saw something glint off your sleeve,” he said. “Show me your arm.”
Tatiana smiled and batted her eyes, ripping her arm away from him. “What are you talking about?”
He turned her right wrist over and snatched her sleeve back before releasing her. “I’m sorry, but I must’ve been mistaken.”
Tatiana eased the blade into her left sleeve while his eyes were focused on her right.
As she turned to walk away, he stopped her again. “No. Wait a minute.” he said. “I still see something. Come here right now.”
Tatiana walked over to him, feigning ignorance as much as possible and turning on her charm. “If you want my number, you can just ask for it,” she said.
“Don’t be so presumptuous,” the man said. “You’re not my type.”
“So my age doesn’t bother you?” Tatiana asked as she grabbed the man’s shirt and tugged on it, pulling him closer to her. “What do you say?”
“What do you say you show me that thing tucked up your sleeves that’s reflecting off the overhead lighting. We don’t need anything like that occurring during the production.”
“It’s just your imagination,” Tatiana said, holding out both arms as she backed into the shadows offstage. “There’s nothing here. See?”
“I could’ve sworn I saw something there,” he said, grabbing her wrist again.
“There was,” Tatiana said as she released her knife and drove the blade up through the man’s neck. Before his blood made a mess, she ripped open one of the prop chests and stuffed him inside. She was certain that nobody had seen her.
Tatiana wiped the knife clean, cleaning off the blood on the man’s pants. She noticed some blood tricking out of the corner near the base of the box. Grabbing a coat from the inside of the costume box, she used the piece of clothing to mop up the trickling blood before tossing it back inside.
Promptly re-securing the knife, she raced back out into the rehearsal room and picked up where she’d left off, performing her grand jeté as she leaped across the makeshift stage.
“Is everyone ready?” the instructor called, clapping her hands to signal for everyone to line up.
“The show just started,” the woman said. “We’re on in one hour.”
In sixty minutes, she was going to end the president’s life. And she couldn’t wait to do it so she could go home.
CHAPTER 33
BLACK PARKED HIS CAR in the deck and eyed one of the catering vans loading up empty hors d’oeuvres trays and used glassware. He eased next to the vehicle and waited for the guy who appeared to be in his early twenties. Once he was by himself, Black whispered to get his attention.
“Hey, bud. Want to make a quick extra two hundred bucks?” Black asked, signaling for the guy to come closer.
The young man looked around before hustling over to Black. “Maybe. What do you need me to do?”
>
“I need you to take the night off and give me your catering jacket,” Black said.
He was already wearing dark pants and only needed a white jacket—and a security clearance badge—to complete the look.
“Why not?” the guy said. “I was just filling in tonight for a friend anyway.”
“Great,” Black said. “Give me your coat there, and I’ll give you the money.”
The two swapped items before Black rushed over to the door, keeping his head down as he meandered inside. He turned the corner and came face-to-face with a security guard checking all the passes. When he saw Black in a catering outfit, the man hardly looked at the badge and waved Black through the metal detector, which didn’t go off.
Just as he was about to turn the corner, the guard called after Black. “Hey, you. Come here.”
Black froze, unsure if he should run and verify his status as an intruder, which would also give him the best chance to get away, or politely return and see what the man wanted. As much as Black wanted to select the first option, he chose the second.
“What is it, sir?” Black asked in as polite of a manner as he could muster.
“Do you guys still have any of those little hotdog thingys that you pick up with a toothpick?”
“Are you talking about Little Smokies?”
“Sure,” the guy said. “I don’t know. Whatever you call them. Just bring me a small plate of them if you don’t mind. My stomach is about to eat itself I’m so hungry.”
Black nodded. “Of course. I’ll be back in a jiffy with a plate of Little Smokies just for you.”
Relieved that the summons was nothing more than that, Black hustled down the hallway before taking a hard right once he glanced over his shoulder and had noticed that the guard had returned to reading his magazine.
“I’m in,” Black said after he turned on his coms and affixed it to his ear.
“Took you long enough,” Shields said. “And now you need to hurry.”
Black shed his jacket to reveal his tuxedo as he ascended the steps and arrived on the main floor. He needed to warn the president about the imminent danger, but Black had a plethora of obstacles to overcome, starting with access.
The steps to the balcony were reserved for VIPs with a special access badge. Black didn’t have one, nor did he want to get too close to anyone for fear that they might recognize him. The initial images of Black plastered on television looked nothing like him, but according to Shields, the latest reports revealed Black in his most recent hairstyle and color.
“Don’t get too close,” Shields said. “I’m sure that Gaither alerted the FBI and the Secret Service about what you look like now. And agents from both those agencies will be looking for you, trying to keep you as far away from the president as possible, most likely by taking you into custody.”
“So, what am I supposed to do?” he asked.
“Why are you asking me? You’re the one who said you’d figure it out when you got here.”
Black strode toward a fire alarm.
“Don’t even think about it,” she said. “That will only create more chaos and be far more difficult to control.”
“But it gives me an advantage since I can charge headlong into the crowd streaming toward the exits without anyone paying me any attention.”
“Titus Ulysses Black, you turn around right now,” she said.
“You’re watching me, aren’t you?” he asked.
“Like a hawk.”
“Okay, instead of chastising all my ideas, can you possibly think of one yourself and pass it along? I’m starting to get desperate.”
“I tapped into the Kennedy Center’s security network, and I’m scanning the footage as we speak,” Shields said.
“Again, that doesn’t do me any good.”
“Of course it does when I can transmit this to your phone so you can see what I’m looking at,” she said.
Black’s phone buzzed with a message from Shields that was a simple link.
“I’m assuming you want me to click on this, unless you’ve decided to Rick Roll me at one of the worst times ever.”
Shields chuckled. “Select the app I just sent you, and that should be able to see everything I can.”
“What good is this going to do me if I can’t get inside the auditorium?”
“Just check out the still photography I added to that email and let me know what you think.”
“I’m not sure I can see everyone distinctly,” she said.
“Me either,” Black said. “But it’ll have to do.”
“Why don’t you use the back stairwell and find a spot where you can assess the audience and possible attack points in the building.”
“Roger that,” Black said.
He entered a side door and started climbing the steps, two or three at a time. After he’d worked his way up two flights of stairs, he stopped. He wanted to wait for someone to exit through those doors as they inevitably do. But after five minutes of waiting, nobody came.
Frustrated, Black sat on the top step just below the landing and watched Shields’s cameras roam back and forth across the room.
“There he is,” Black said as he eased to his feet.
The door flung open, catching Black off guard. He put his head down as a familiar-looking man barely gave Black a second glance.
Black hopped to his feet and then grabbed the handle just before the door closed. He glanced behind him once more when he heard heavy footfalls approaching his position. Without hesitating, Black darted down the hallway and then ducked into a closet.
“Shields, can you hear me?” Black asked.
“Loud and clear,” she said. “Are you in some kind of trouble?”
“Just help me find a place where I can hide until he’s gone.”
“Hang on a sec,” she said. “Let me pull up the schematics.”
“Come on, come on,” Black said. “I need to know where to go right now.”
“Okay got it. Just up ahead, turn left. There’s a service closet on the right.”
Black followed Shields’s instruction and slipped inside. For the first time in ten minutes, Black caught his breath—and he wondered if he’d be able to help the president before it was too late.
“What have you got, Shields?” he whispered.
“Well, you’re not gonna like this—”
She finished her thought, but Black never heard it. The door to the closet flung open. And standing over him was a Secret Service agent.
“Well, well, well, if it isn’t Washington’s most famous fugitive,” the man said, training his gun on Black.
“You’re going to make a big mistake if you arrest me,” Black said. “The president’s life is in danger.”
“Yeah, because of you,” the agent said. “Now, hands where I can see them. Let’s not make this any more difficult than it has to be.”
Black held out his hands and shivered as the cold metal cuffs slid around his wrists.
CHAPTER 34
Washington, D.C.
SHIELDS WATCHED OVER the security cameras as Black was apprehended by the Secret Service agent. She felt helpless, unable to do anything about it. After slamming her fist onto her desk, she got up and paced around the room. Short of going to the Kennedy Center, she was running out of ideas. But even that was a long shot. By the time she got down there, it’d likely be too late.
She listened as the man who arrested Black called for assistance over his coms. Black sat down, leaning against the wall. She was tempted to say something, but she didn’t want to risk her voice being heard and losing contact with him.
While she took in the scene on her monitor, her cell rang with a call from a number she didn’t recognize.
“Christina Shields,” she said as she answered.
“Yes, Ms. Shields,” the caller said, “my name is Mallory Kauffman. I work with the NSA.”
“Oh, yes. I’m familiar with who you are. I believe you were working on cracking some files fo
r me.”
“That’s right. Well, I had some extra time tonight and started to look at those encrypted messages again. It seems like they were written in some sort of code.”
“We were able to crack that. The Russians are planning to make an attempt on the life of the president tonight.”
“Are you sure about that?” Kauffman asked. “Because there’s more to this code.”
“What do you mean?”
“Today’s date is in the message as is President Michaels’s name. But I don’t think he’s the target.”
“Why not? Who else could they be after?” Shields asked.
“I found another name embedded in that same message, one you likely would’ve missed—Vasyl Petrenko.”
“The Ukranian president?”
“Yeah, and he’s at the Kennedy Center tonight too.”
“Do you think Petrenko and Michaels are both being targeted?”
“I don’t think the Russians are itching for a war with us, but I got an alert tonight on some unusual activity in the Russian region near Ukraine. According to some of the satellite imagery I was looking at, there’s been quite a bit of action on the border as the Russians are amassing troops there as if they’re about to invade. It’s like sharks circling their prey.”
“This is about that defense technology, isn’t it?” Shields asked.
“Who knows what incited this. I don’t think it takes much for either one of these countries to get angered by the other. They’re both looking for a reason to go to war and settle their conflict. But one thing’s for sure: if the Russians assassinate Petrenko tonight, full-fledged war will break out. That much is guaranteed.”
“Just an attempt on Petrenko’s life will do that.”
“You’re probably right.”
“One of our agents went to the Kennedy Center to try and alert security there about the potential threat, but he’s not having much luck at the moment. Have you let your boss know?”
“I tried,” Kauffman said, “but he hasn’t called me back yet. He’s dealing with all the fallout from the Wikileaks information dump that just happened. Apparently, Senator Gaither is upset that his good name is being sullied.”
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