Stealth Retribution

by Vikki Kestell

  “You did?” I was thrilled. “So did I!”

  He grinned. “Get all my best stuff from him—but this time I had to really brainstorm outside the box. I have the strongest impression that he helped me think of ways to use your nanomites in this situation. So, if you are willing to help, I believe I have a plan.”

  “Whatever you need, sir, and the nanomites had a few ideas, too.”

  “Care to share?”

  I did, and it seemed that the President’s thoughts ran along the same vein as the nanomites’ ideas. Over the next hour, with a few tweaks and additions, we ironed out the details.

  “Can the nanomites write that recording of Harmon and the general onto my cell phone?”

  “Yes, they can do that, Mr. President.”

  “Good. I’ll use it to confront Harmon, and the recording will be backup for afterward—in the event we need evidence. If the recording is needed as evidence, I give you my promise that I will refuse to give up my confidential source, even if pressed.”

  “Thank you, Mr. President.”

  “All right. Next, if I give you a number, can you have the nanomites call it but make the number look like its coming from the White House?”

  “While hiding the call from the Secret Service?”

  “Exactly. You’re a quick study, Miss Keyes.”

  “Who will you be calling, Mr. President—if I may ask?”

  “Axel Kennedy, the head of my protective detail. I trust him implicitly. Part of the reason I do is because I also have reason to believe that he’s not a fan of Harmon’s.”

  I nodded. “I’m ready when you are, Mr. President.”

  He gave me the number; as I dialed it, the nanomites hid the call from the Secret Service’s surveillance and spoofed the caller I.D. on the other end.

  I put the call on speaker phone. At the second ring, a man answered.

  “Yes, Mr. President?”

  “Axel, sorry to disturb you, but I have a situation here.”

  “I’ll be right in, sir.”

  “No. No, you can’t come in now. Can’t risk it.”

  “Risk it, sir?”

  Robert Jackson had called me a quick study, but he was a master. He grabbed only the important threads of the plot and presented them in cold, concise bullet points. Then he played the recording of Harmon’s call to Cushing.

  Axel Kennedy’s response was explosive. “My God, Mr. President! This is treason!” After he’d added a few choice descriptors for Harmon, he asked, “And you have breakfast scheduled with the *bleeping* Vice President at 7 a.m.?”

  “Yes; that’s when he intends to administer what I can only describe as a chemical/biological weapon.”

  “Sir, we have to take steps now. As head of your detail, I can’t allow you to meet with him.”

  “You must, Axel. If this plot were to leak out, the damage to my administration would be disastrous. I have a plan to remove Harmon from the Vice Presidency without anyone other than us being the wiser as to why. You are integral to that plan. I want you to arrive at 6 a.m.—an hour before Harmon arrives. You coming to work thirty minutes earlier than usual won’t raise any red flags.”

  “I’ll be there, Mr. President, but what would you have me do?”

  “Well, you won’t be sleeping the rest of the night.”

  The time was already closing in on 3:30 a.m.; none of us would be sleeping the rest of the night.

  “Sir?”

  “We need video recording equipment, one of those plug-and-play systems with multiple cameras that sends surveillance video to an app on your smart phone. Hit a big box store and get what you need.”

  “Sir, no store like that in the D.C. area is open in the middle of the night.”

  The President’s voice turned wry. “It’s almost Christmas, Axel. Some of these stores are open 24/7 through Christmas Eve. My son and daughter-in-law sometimes shop in the middle of the night. It’s called life with kids and full-time jobs.”

  “Yes, Mr. President—but sir? I won’t get electronics past our own security.”

  “I’ll meet you when you arrive and thank you for picking up the gift for my wife’s brother and his family.”

  Axel was silent. “Since the system will be boxed up, it might get by.”

  “It will, because I’ll make sure it does.”

  “Yes, Mr. President. Then what?”

  “You’ll set up cameras in the Oval Office and watch from across the hall in the Roosevelt room while the Vice President is with me. I will give orders for the Roosevelt Room to be kept clear for your use only. No one else is to enter the Roosevelt Room other than you. In fact, I want a guard outside that door so that only you enter. You’ll watch and record the feed from there. When the time is right, I will look up at a camera and signal you to come to me.”

  Axel interrupted. “Mr. President, hiding more than two cameras in the Oval Office will be problematic. I believe I can manage to conceal one in the bookcase and another on the fireplace mantle.”

  “Two will have to do, Axel. Harmon will try to slip the weapon into my food or drink—so, I want you to make sure the steward positions the coffee service in full view of a camera. And don’t worry; I won’t touch a blasted thing he’s fiddled with.”

  “I don’t like it, Mr. President. I should be at your side—and with all due respect, sir, regardless of the outcome, the Director will have my head. I’ll be off your detail. Officially reprimanded. Demoted.”

  “No, you won’t. I’ll take care of you. I promise.”

  The force of the President’s personality carried the argument.

  What Agent Axel didn’t know, is that I would be at the President’s side the entire time, and the nanomites would be vigilant to ensure his food and drink weren’t tainted.

  What I didn’t know was that the nanomites had concluded their own course of action in response to the threat Harmon posed.

  ~~**~~

  Chapter 22

  We were all tired; I could see the worry and stress on Mrs. Jackson’s face and the determination on her husband’s. The last few hours before we could act had been the hardest.

  We’d filled those remaining hours with conversation—or should I say, the President and his wife asked a lot of questions and I answered them? By the time we finished, they knew just about every aspect of my life and the details surrounding my experiences with the nanomites.

  While the President and First Lady showered and dressed, I pilfered more food from their kitchen. I needed to be fully fueled, ready for whatever came next.

  It was nearing 6 a.m. Ten minutes before the hour, Maddie Jackson stepped into the hallway with her husband and kissed him goodbye.

  “I’ll be praying, Robert, but be careful. Please.”

  “I will.” He turned to where I leaned against a wall, waiting. “Gemma will have my back. I trust her.”

  I swallowed hard. Lord, don’t let me fail this man.

  All I could say was, “We will do our best, sir.”

  “I know you will.”

  The President took his elevator to the ground floor while I, made invisible by the nanomites, took the stairs. When I reached the bottom and stared down the Center Hall, the President was striding toward his office, two agents and his Chief of Staff close at hand. I followed them at a discreet distance, through the Palm Room and down the West Colonnade, past the Rose Garden to the Oval Office’s exterior door.

  I waited outside and looked through the panes of glass while the President spoke to his Chief of Staff. The nanomites attached themselves to the glass and pumped their conversation into my ears.

  “These need your immediate attention, Mr. President.”

  “Sorry, Cliff. I can’t look at them at the moment; I promise to give them my full attention after my breakfast with the Vice President.”

  “But, Mr. President—”

  “Cliff, I don’t mean to be rude, but I need you to leave.”

  The man’s jaw dropped. “Yes, sir.”
He exited by way of the door that led into the West Wing corridor.

  I opened the exterior door and stepped inside.

  “Gemma?”

  “Here, sir.”

  “Very good.” He glanced at a text on his cell. “Axel just arrived. I need to go meet him.”

  I was alone in the Oval Office, and I swept my gaze around the room, marveling at this place and this moment. I was elated and nervous at the same time; if we were successful in taking down Harmon, so many things would be better going forward.

  Gemma Keyes. Don’t worry. Harmon will not succeed in harming the President.

  “Thank you, Nano. I’m glad we are in this together.”

  We are six, Gemma Keyes. We are optimal.

  I smiled. It had been a few days since the nanomites had last recited their catchphrase. It was a comforting mantra.

  The President and an ordinary-looking man hurried into the Oval Office. The man carried a bag and pulled two cameras from it as soon as the door closed. He set one camera on the recessed bookcase to the left of the President’s desk and angled it toward the two couches in the center of the room.

  “This system works via Wi-Fi. I’ll have to override the White House network security settings from our command center to get the cameras online. I’ll be breaking protocol when I do, and the timing will be critical.”

  I moved to the President’s side and whispered, “We can handle the network, sir.”

  He nodded. “Um, Axel, why don’t you try to connect the cameras to the network first? I, um, believe you won’t encounter any difficulties.”

  Axel looked at the President. “You’re not telling me something.”

  “Above your paygrade, Axel. Just trust me.”

  Axel set up the second camera within the foliage of a potted poinsettia on the fireplace mantle. He pointed the lens toward the coffee table between the two couches.

  Satisfied that the camera angles were good, Axel made one last observation. “The Vice President doesn’t like eating from a plate in his lap, sir.”

  “The Vice President isn’t going to like any part of this morning, Axel. Ask me if I care.”

  “No, sir. I’ll leave you then and get the system online.”

  The door closed. “Gemma?”

  “Yes, Mr. President?”

  “I will have the steward place the breakfast trolley near the bookcase. When Harmon arrives, I’d like you to station yourself where you can watch his every move—particularly when he is near the trolley.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  With a knock, the steward entered. He was quick and competent; he positioned the breakfast trolley as the President asked and laid out napkins and silver on the coffee table before taking his leave.

  Five minutes later Axel slipped into the Oval Office. “Mr. President, I tested the cameras and everything is ready.” He gave the President a steady, no-nonsense look. “In the segment I recorded as a test, you were speaking to someone, sir.”

  “Was I?” Robert Jackson dissembled. “You must be mistaken. Perhaps I was only mumbling to myself.”

  “No, sir. You said, and I quote, ‘Gemma?’ Another individual answered you, ‘Yes, Mr. President?’ and you answered her back—and yet there was no one else in the room. Who is Gemma, Mr. President?”

  Jackson pulled himself together. “I’m sorry but, again, Axel, it is above your paygrade. I can, however, assure you that I am safe.”

  “Sir, as head of your protective detail, the situation disturbs me.”

  Axel and the President had a little stare down at that moment, and the tension got pretty thick. It ended when the door opened and Vice President Harmon walked in.

  “Good morning, Mr. President.”

  John Etheredge Harmon, with his tall, lanky figure and his thick, gray hair—helped in no small measure by his broad, disarming smile—bore a striking resemblance to the older Alan Alda.

  The similarity ended at his blue eyes. While every crease and line and toothsome grin proclaimed joviality, his eyes were cold.

  So, this man was Cushing’s handler.

  I crept along the curving wall until I was near enough the serving trolley to observe all Harmon might do, but I kept out of the camera’s direct line of sight.

  “Good morning, John.” Jackson lifted his chin, ordering Axel from the room.

  “Sir.” Axel turned on his heel. He did not greet Harmon; the Vice President insisted that his protective detail and other agents not speak to him unless necessary.

  When the door closed behind Axel, Harmon rubbed his hands together. “Well, I must say, I’m starved, Bob.” He glanced around. “No table?”

  “No; we’ll sit on the couches. Coffee?”

  The President wasn’t going to drag this out, and I was glad. Sweat was already running down my neck.

  A moue of disdain, quickly covered, crossed Harmon’s face, replaced by a smile. “Let me get it, Bob.”

  This was it.

  I could tell the President was nervous. He glanced around the room—for me, I assumed. It was just a flicker before he recovered. “Thanks, John.”

  Harmon had already turned to the coffee service, his back to the President, and was pouring coffee into two cups. I didn’t know about the nanomites, but my hypervigilance ratcheted up another notch.

  “Nano. Go. Keep me apprised.”

  A contingency of nanomites floated from me to Harmon. We will, Gemma Keyes.

  “Cream as usual, Bob?”

  “Yes, please.”

  I watched as the Vice President poured cream into one steaming cup.

  Then he made his move.

  Harmon’s right hand slipped in and out of his breast pocket, hovered over the cup with cream in it, returned to his breast pocket, and back to stir the cream into the coffee.

  I shot a look at the camera hidden in the bookshelves. Axel would not have missed the move, and I figured he was barely restraining himself to wait for the President’s cue.

  As Harmon put the spoon down and lifted the two cups, I tiptoed across the room. When he handed the President his cup and took a seat opposite him, I leaned over the back of the couch on which the President sat and placed my hand upon his shoulder.

  It was our prearranged signal.

  Robert Jackson shuddered under my touch. He looked directly at the fireplace, at the hidden camera, and gave one small nod. Then he stood.

  “John.”

  “Yes, Mr. President?”

  The door opened and Axel entered. He walked to the President’s side and took the cup from him. Jackson looked relieved to turn it over to him.

  Harmon glanced from Axel to the President. “What’s going on?”

  “Treason, John. Attempted assassination.”

  For a moment, anger and contempt battled Harmon’s guileless façade; then his longstanding, ingenuous veneer clicked into place. “I’m sorry, Mr. President, but you’re confusing me.”

  Jackson, considering his next move, said nothing for a moment, then, “Would you do me a favor, John? Would you humor me?”

  “Of course, Mr. President; what can I do?”

  He tipped his head toward the tainted coffee. “Drink my coffee, John.”

  The nanomites could read the smallest and most fleeting of microexpressions; they detected even minute changes in heart rate, blood pressure, and skin tone.

  And what they saw, I saw.

  Harmon’s pulse rocketed; the color drained from his face. His self-control, however, was masterful, and his puzzled expression never wavered. It did, however, freeze in place.

  “Mr. President, I’m afraid that I don’t understand.”

  “It’s a simple request. Drink the coffee.”

  “But I don’t drink cream with my coffee, sir.”

  Jackson’s demeanor hardened. “I said, drink it.”

  Harmon blinked twice, and I could see the wheels turning as he evaluated the situation. “Of course, Mr. President. I don’t understand, but whatever you say.” />
  He stood and reached for the cup, and his intention came to me in swift insight—but not fast enough. The moment Harmon had the cup and saucer in his hands, he “fumbled” them. The infected brew—the evidence against him—spilled from the cup and streamed toward the carpet.

  When Axel scrabbled for the cup, it was too late.

  It wasn’t, however, too late for the nanomites. I realized later that they had already theorized and prepared for Harmon’s every reaction.

  Electricity arced from my hands; a blue bolt struck and surrounded the spinning cup, saucer, and contents. Like a tape rewinding, the falling liquid globules tumbled backwards, and splattered into the cup, and the cup clattered onto the saucer. For the briefest moment, the upright cup and saucer hung midair—until Axel’s hands jerked forward and retrieved them.

  “I-I didn’t do that,” he sputtered. “I didn’t do that!”

  Harmon and the President, both mesmerized and slack-jawed, stared at the cup and saucer. Harmon recovered first.

  He edged away, muttering, “She’s here!”

  Gemma Keyes. The empty capsule that contained the chemical/biological agent is within Harmon’s breast pocket.

  I grabbed the President’s arm and repeated the nanomites’ message. “Have Axel get the empty capsule now!”

  Jackson snapped out of his shock. “Axel, put that safely aside and retrieve the evidence from Harmon’s breast pocket.”

  Harmon was muttering under his breath and vainly searching the Oval Office when Axel grabbed him by the lapels.

  “Take your *bleeping* hands off me!” Harmon tore at Axel’s hands and attempted to pull away.

  “Sir, if you resist further, I will put you on the floor.” Axel patted Harmon’s jacket, looking for the capsule.

  “Be careful, Axel,” the President cautioned him.

  Axel donned a single latex glove, retrieved the capsule, and placed it in a plastic bag marked “Evidence.” He pulled the glove off, inside out, and placed it in a second evidence bag. Then he guided Harmon back to the couch and into a cushioned seat across from the President.

  The Vice President glared at Jackson. “Well? What next?”

  “That’s up to you. You have two choices before you.”