“I’d take that bet for a dollar. What’s the plan, then?” Logan asked, as Cole and Special Agent Foster waited patiently behind him.
“Tell your pilot to stand by,” Jake said to the extremely fit Foster, an African American with a goatee and head of the FBI’s HRT. “He can wait in my office or up here: it’s his choice. And if you need him, he can be anywhere inside the DC diamond within two to three minutes.”
“You got it, sir,” Special Agent Foster said to his friend and ultimate boss. “But that leads me to my next question—where are we going?”
The director of the FBI, a tall man with the air of an elder statesman that belied the cunning agent he truly was, smiled. “To the White House, so we can have a little privacy when we talk to our commander in chief.”
“Roger, but what about all this gear and all these guns?” Special Agent Foster asked, aware of the strict Secret Service White House policy on firearms for anyone other than uniformed law enforcement on official business. Pretty sure that going after the vice president isn’t covered under the definition of “official business,” he thought.
“Leave the gear and the guns in the SUVs. If we need them inside the White House, then we definitely have much larger problems than a treasonous vice president,” Jake replied.
“What SUVs?” Logan asked, suddenly smirking. “I’m pretty sure you don’t have any up here, unless you have cars that can fly now.”
“Keep it up, and I’ll ask your friends to see how well you can fly,” Jake shot back. “My detail is getting three Suburbans ready in the garage as we speak. Come on. Let’s go.”
“Well, then,” Logan said, suddenly serious. “I guess it’s time.”
“Time for what?” Jake asked, as the large group of men walked toward a door in the side of a small building that jutted up from the roof.
“Time to direct the hate and rage at the motherfuckers who deserve it and make them pay for what they’ve done to this country, to your nephew, and to John,” Logan said. “And there’s not a goddamned thing anyone can do—including me—to stop it.”
“It’s like the president said when we started this counteroffensive after Sudan—we do whatever it takes,” Jake said soberly, and put his hand on Logan’s shoulder as they walked. Logan was family to Jake, and the two men had grown closer since the loss of Mike Benson. Lord, please protect this man and his friends, Jake thought. They’re going to need it.
CHAPTER 34
White House Situation Room
1415 Local Time
The White House Situation Room was actually a complex in the basement of the West Wing. It was composed of three principal conference rooms, a watch floor that provided 24/7 classified intelligence and unclassified situational awareness, and several smaller breakout rooms. Renovated in 2007, it contained all next-generation technology that provided the White House with the ability to ingest information and intelligence from the Intelligence Community, as well as communicate to every leader in the free world. It also connected directly to the president of the United States, no matter where he was, be it flying on Air Force One or traveling in a ground convoy in the Beast, his armored limousine. It was this last capability the assembled men in the main principal conference room were utilizing at the moment.
CIA Director Sheldon Tooney, FBI Director Jake Benson, Logan West, Cole Matthews, and National Security Advisor Christopher Moran—who’d been promoted from deputy NSA after Jonathan Sommers’ treachery had been discovered—stood around the dark cherrywood table that was polished daily. The plush black leather chairs had been pushed against the walls so that the five men could stand when the president appeared on the large HD video teleconference monitor at the end of the room.
A chirping suddenly came through the large speakers under the monitor, and a monotone male voice announced, “Stand by for the president.” A second later, the face of President Preston Scott filled the screen. Flashing lights and shadows streamed behind the good-looking president, giving the appearance of motion.
“Gentlemen, please sit down,” the president commanded.
Even as the chairs were pulled to the table by two of the world’s most powerful men, two of the world’s most lethal, and one courageous national security advisor, the president said, “What is so urgent that you had to have the director of the Secret Service reach out to my detail and get me? We just walked out of the Borgata, and I’m in the Beast. There’s no one else in back with me. We’re on the way to the airport, and I’ll be back in DC in less than ninety minutes.”
“Sir, I asked that the communications officer stop recording this VTC the second you appeared,” Jake said of the classified video teleconference, pausing before he continued. “Do you remember when you found out that Sommers had betrayed our country? When Sheldon and I told you he was a traitor?”
“Of course,” the president responded. “I was furious. I could have killed that sonofabitch myself. He betrayed everything we stand for as a nation. Part of me still agrees with you all that he deserves to die for his crimes.”
“Sir, that won’t be necessary anymore,” Logan said respectfully.
“What do you mean?” the president asked, suddenly attentive.
“Because he died this morning in an attack on Ares headquarters at our compound in Quantico,” Logan responded.
A man accustomed to receiving not just bad but globally catastrophic news on a regular basis as a result of his position, the president kept his expression unchanged. “How? Do you know who’s responsible?”
“Yes, sir, we do,” Jake replied. “It’s why I asked you about how you felt after Sommers. Because this is way worse, sir.”
“How can that be?” the president asked, concern finally showing through the VTC.
“Because it’s the vice president who had his personal detail try to kill us,” Logan said as quickly as he could.
A silence engulfed the room as the assembled men and patriots waited for a response.
“I knew this day would come,” the president said disgustedly. “Tell me everything.”
CHAPTER 35
After listening to the recitation of information discovered over the past three days, the president sat silent, the only sound the background noise as the Beast rolled toward Atlantic City International Airport.
“Where is he right now?” President Scott finally asked.
“Sir, he’s at his residence. He leaves in an hour for the National Cathedral for a special practice by his son’s choir at St. Albans,” Jake said, referring to the elite Episcopalian boys’ school on the grounds of the National Cathedral. “It’s a last-minute visit, according to Director Mullins, who’s kept informed of any changes to the vice president’s schedule.”
“Sir, we have two choices: we can try to take him at the vice president’s residence at the observatory, or we can intercept him at the National Cathedral,” Logan said. “Both offer significant challenges.”
“How so?” the president asked.
“Sir, we don’t know how many other agents on his detail are with him and know about his role in the Organization,” Logan said. “It could be just a few, or it could be every damn one of them. We could call ahead of time, but if everyone’s in on it, he gets tipped off, and he can get out of Dodge before we track him down. If we show up, it could turn into a firefight fast, especially at the sight of us.”
“What’s the other option?” the president asked.
“We intercept him at the National Cathedral. We show up unannounced, explain that there’s an imminent threat to him, and that we need to take him back to the White House, where you’re expecting him,” Logan said.
“Jesus Christ, Logan,” the president said. “There’s going to be a full choir of kids and who knows how many other civilians present. I won’t risk that kind of collateral damage.”
“Sir, I understand your concerns. Believe me, I do. But even if the vice president is a Council member in the Organization, he’s not a sociopath. These gu
ys are ideological and believe they’re making the world a better place.”
“So did Hitler, and look how that turned out,” President Scott said.
“Sir, he’s not Hitler. I don’t think he’ll risk a confrontation. Remember, his son will be there. There’s no way a father would put his own son in danger. He’s a traitor, but he’s not that kind of monster,” Logan finished.
“Sir, I agree,” Sheldon Tooney said. “I’ve known Vice President Baker a long time. He’ll come quietly if we get to him before he realizes what’s happening.”
The president shook his head, considering his options. “What a goddamn mess . . . Gentlemen, I appreciate your input, but this call is on me.” His voice suddenly grew stronger. “I won’t risk the potential loss of innocent life. I can’t. Too many people have died because of the Organization, and I am not going to add to that body count.” He sat back against the leather seat of the vehicle. “I can’t. I’m sorry.”
Jake Benson had spent a lifetime negotiating and arguing with presidents, senators, congressmen, and other senior leaders in the US government. A master of political nuance, he understood the point in a discussion when a decision had been reached from which there was no turning back, and he’d trained himself not to push past it. There was no changing the president’s mind. It would have to be the vice president’s residence at the Naval Observatory.
“I understand, sir,” Jake said.
Logan suddenly interjected. “Sir, we can still show up unannounced and use the national security threat angle. I don’t want to tip him off that we’re coming. After this morning, I guarantee he’s on edge since he hasn’t heard back from Harkens or anyone else on the detail. He knows by now that something went way wrong, and he’ll have his guard up. But if we can separate him from his detail somehow, we can get him without firing a shot.”
“Very well, Logan,” the president said. “Make it happen, and notify me as soon as you have him in custody. I’ll either be on Air Force One or on the way back to the White House.”
“We will, sir,” Jake said. “In fact, I’m going to stay down here and hijack one of these conference rooms and run this operation from it. I’ll be able to get to you immediately, sir.”
“Roger, Jake,” the president said, falling back into the military lingo from his Air Force pilot days. “Gentlemen, good luck, be safe, and Godspeed. See you soon. Out here.”
The screen suddenly turned blue once the call was disconnected, although “White House Situation Room” remained on the HD monitor in white letters.
“All right, gang,” Logan said. “You heard the man. Let’s get back up to the vehicle, fill in the rest of the team, and get to work. Jake, Director, set up shop and call me on my cell once you’re up and running.”
“I’m going to get the director of the Secret Service down here as well,” Jake said. “He needs to know what’s about to happen.”
“He’s going to love that,” Logan said. “We’ve already killed enough of his guys for one day.”
“I doubt Director Mullins will be broken up about it once he finds out what those agents really were. I’ve known him for a long time. He’s an honorable man,” Jake said.
“Sir, it seems like all of these guys we’ve been chasing have been honorable men,” Cole said, breaking his silence. “Yet we still end up having to kill them.”
Realizing Cole had a point, Jake said, “Noted, and you’re right, but I trust him. And if he turns out to be something other than what I believe him to be, I’ll put a bullet in him myself,” he finished, opening his suit coat to reveal a Glock 17 9mm pistol in a tightly worn shoulder rig. “I am law enforcement, after all, and this sure as hell is official business.”
“Very nice, sir,” Cole said.
“No kidding,” Logan added. “I hope it doesn’t come to that, but if it does, aim for the head and make it count.”
“Mike taught me how to really shoot, not just the marksmanship I learned in my early years with the FBI,” Jake said, suddenly serious after speaking his dead nephew’s name aloud. “Trust me. I won’t miss.”
“Good to go,” Logan said. “Neither will we. Come on, Cole, let’s get upstairs and get the show on the road. We’ve got a traitor to trap.”
CHAPTER 36
Vice President’s Residence
Naval Observatory, Northwest, DC
Vice President Josh Baker was exhausted from the stress and relentless pace of the past three days. Truth be told, he was relieved that the charade would soon be over, at least the pretending-to-be-a-vice-president-who-cared-about-the-country part. Once the Council had revolted against the Founder, he knew it was only a matter of time before a full-blown war broke out. And he’d been right, just as he’d been right that Constantine Kallas wouldn’t go gently into that good night. Once he’d realized that his network had been compromised, he’d fought back, executing the director of the NSA in broad daylight.
That bold move had accelerated Josh’s plans, forcing him to make the fateful choice to send the head of his detail and several special agents loyal to the Organization to the secret compound that housed the president’s special task force. He’d hoped to have that flash drive with its list of the Organization’s most secret and powerful members, but when he hadn’t heard back from Special Agent Harkens, he knew the mission had failed. The only good thing about it was that Harkens and the men he’d taken with him had had the day off, which meant the vice president had at least until tomorrow morning to vanish from the face of the political earth—no small feat for the second most powerful man in the United States, at least on paper. He’d planned to disappear no matter what, but now there was a deadline.
Fortunately, two Council members opposing the Founder had coordinated his escape, which would be perceived publicly as a homegrown terrorist attack and kidnapping for ransom. Somehow—and he hadn’t asked for details—the Council had two teams in place, as well as digital and physical evidence that would implicate a well-organized and well-funded militia from Montana that opposed the federal government and—this was the smart touch—the vice president’s staunch opposition to a new pipeline laterally across the heart of Montana, through the top of Idaho, and across Washington State to the Pacific Ocean.
The North American Oil Company was furious, but Josh didn’t care. The ironic part—something North American Oil would never know—was that he hadn’t opposed the pipeline because of some democratic or conservational ideal. No. It was much simpler than that. He just didn’t like the CEO, who’d been a classmate of his at Yale. The satisfaction he derived from making Taylor Albritton’s life miserable far outweighed the thousands of jobs the pipeline would create. No matter what else transpired, Vice President Joshua Baker was a man who made his enemies pay a price, either justifiably or unjustifiably so. And I’m good with that. Politics is war, and the victors are the ones who fought dirty and played by no rules but their own. And I’m the reigning king of them all.
By the end of the day, Josh would be on a one-way trip to South America, while the rest of the federal government focused its investigation and herculean resources out west.
The only person he would truly miss was his son, Jacob, who was an innocent pawn in his father’s alternate existence. That paternal bond was why he’d ordered his detail to arrange an unannounced visit to the National Cathedral to see his son’s choir practice. His wife he could do without; all she did was revel in the DC elitist circles.
Instead of the normal full presidential motorcade—in that respect, both the president and vice president were treated the same, complete with a route car, pilot car, staff car, CAT team, ambulance, electronic countermeasures vehicle, and communications relay vehicle—he’d pressured the detail of the day into limiting his footprint to the vice presidential limousine—smaller than the president’s Beast—along with one SUV for his detail, one CAT team, the ambulance, and the communications relay SUV. The only ones inside the cathedral would be his detail, as they were also the onl
y ones who knew the real intent of the unannounced visit—to provide the Council’s team the opportunity to snatch him away from the grounds of the Naval Observatory, which were guarded by both the Secret Service and the Department of the Navy.
He glanced at his watch, then looked around the master bedroom. The wedding photograph on the dark dresser stared accusingly at him. He tried to dismiss the twinge of guilt he felt. You made your choice long ago. The Organization always came first, no matter what.
He exhaled, allowing his normal—some might argue cold and calculating—nature to resettle over him. Time to go. No point in delaying the inevitable.
Vice President Joshua Baker strode purposefully for the closed doors and never looked back.
Chapter 37
National Cathedral
Northwest, Washington DC
Standing atop St. Albans Hill on Wisconsin Avenue, the Washington National Cathedral was a marvel of Gothic architecture. Built of Indiana limestone over an eighty-three-year period, the enormous Episcopalian house of worship was shaped in a giant cross—apparent from any passing aircraft—with a five-hundred-foot nave and two smaller transepts.
Flying buttresses soared into the sky and supported the walls and rooftops along the outside of the nave on both sides. Two twelve-story towers stood like sentinels at the west end of the nave. In between and below the two towers, an observation deck accessible to all visitors provided a breathtaking view of the entire cathedral, including the main bell tower, which rose three hundred feet above the ground. The hill itself had an elevation of three hundred feet, making the top of the bell tower the highest point in all of DC.
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