by Scott Blade
He didn’t want her to respond. He got out of the car and stepped in front of the hood. He pulled out his cell phone and called the number by memory. He had a system for that. He memorized words instead of numbers. Sometimes the spelling was off. The girl’s name was Nicole Rowley, and her number had spelled C0D FISHYS 0. Not quite correct words because of the zeroes, but close enough. And it was easy to remember because maybe that arm was lost from a shark attack, kind of like a fish.
Daftshaw waited, listening to the phone ring. A voice answered and said, “Rowley’s house.”
“This is Officer Daftshaw with DCPD. I’m calling to speak to Mr. Rowley.”
Graine said, “This is he.”
“Mr. Rowley, I have Nicole. She’s safe and sound.”
Graine paused a beat and then said, “That’s great news, officer. Where are you?”
“I’m at a gas station outside of the city.”
“Fantastic! Thank you so much! I’ve been worried sick! Please bring her home!”
Daftshaw said, “We got your message from the FBI. I apologize for this unpleasantness, but I have to ask. Why the FBI?”
“What do you mean?”
“Procedure calls for her to be brought to the station. She doesn’t have any physical injuries except for a small bruise under her eye. But it’s enough to cause alarm. Sir, if there’s been a crime here, it shouldn’t be overlooked even if the FBI asks us to.”
“Officer, I’m Gibson Rowley.”
Daftshaw said nothing.
“If my name means nothing to you, Google me. I’m the director of the United States Secret Service. Nicole ran away with her boyfriend. She’s a minor, and this whole embarrassing scene could cause considerable problems for me and possibly for the president. Certainly, the media will make heyday of it. I’m sure you’ve seen the claims in the news of late about the Secret Service scandals. Agents drinking and getting hookers and so on. Please, officer, just bring our daughter home. We don’t want any problems.”
Daftshaw thought for a moment and said, “Okay, sir. I understand. We’ll be there soon.”
“Okay. I’ll inform the gate. Just come straight here and don’t stop.”
Daftshaw said, “Sounds good.” He hung up the phone and returned to the car.
Raggie said, “Can I call my dad now?”
“You’ll see him soon. I’ve been told he’s worried about you. They know the whole story. Everything’s going to be fine. Just relax.”
Raggie sat back on the seat. Her eyes felt droopy and tired, and almost without any warning, she was asleep.
Max laid his head in her lap.
Chapter 46
AMERICA’S FLYING WHITE HOUSE, also known as Air Force One, came into a landing at Dulles Airport on its designated runway. Due to volatile circumstances in the world at the moment, the press corps was gathered and allowed to wait near the president’s hangar for a special briefing.
The president had just left a summit in Africa’s western region to help soothe tensions in the area. The recent assassination of a president-elect by his oldest son on international television had sparked a domino effect of unrest and political aggression. The struggles between democratic and socialist countries in the region weren’t evenly matched. Most of the countries weren’t real democracies, and what happened in West Ganbola was perceived as an act to destabilize the region.
Rowley leaned against the sink in the bathroom and stared at his face in the mirror. It wasn’t that he didn’t recognize himself, but he didn’t recognize the man who was contemplating killing the president. He closed his eyes and thought about Raggie.
Even though Rowley hadn’t been in the Army in years, he still wore his dog tags every day beneath his suit, tie, and bulletproof vest. He also wore his United States pin on his jacket. He looked down at it, and the stars and stripes stared back at him.
Rowley looked away from it and closed his eyes again one last time. He saw his little girl as she lay in that South African hospital bed after the shark attack. He felt guilty now for not being there sooner. He felt guilty that he’d had to leave while she was in surgery because the president was moving. He felt guilty that he’d never even told anyone she had been in surgery until after the president had left the country and was safe.
What was he going to do? He had been a patriot first and a father second for his whole career and for Raggie’s whole life. Now he had to decide which duty was more important. He had to decide which was more important—his president or his daughter.
Rowley opened his eyes and looked at the flag pin one last time. Then he unpinned it, threw it in the toilet, and flushed it.
He took out his department-issued SIG Sauer. He pulled back the slide and chambered a round, clicked the safety to fire, and holstered it. The agents assigned to close guard the president didn’t have safety buttons on their holsters. They needed to have quick, fluid access to their weapons. Their safety was in their training.
He was locked and cocked, ready to do what he needed to do.
Ready to fulfill his duty.
He splashed water on his face, wiped it clear, and stepped back out into the plane.
Chapter 47
“WE’LL NEED SOME KIND OF BACKUP,” Cameron said.
Cord said, “I don’t know who else to call.”
“You need to make more friends.”
“I mean that I don’t trust anyone else.”
Cameron said, “I know someone we can call. Dial this number.” And he repeated the digits straight from memory.
Cord dialed them without question until he got to the last one. He recognized the number. Before he hit the call button, he looked over at Cameron. They were nearing the exit closest to Rowley’s house.
Cord said, “I don’t know about this.”
“Call it. We need her help. Trust me. She can do more than you think.”
Cord was silent.
Cameron said, “Trust your people.”
Cord hit the call button and waited for the phone to ring. It rang and rang. He had almost given up when a female voice answered and said, “Hello? I’m in the shower.”
Cord said, “This is Cord and Cameron. We need your help. ASAP!”
Then he hung up the phone.
Chapter 48
JOHN LANE AND THE MAN WITH NO EARS drove through the gates of the subdivision first, and Grant followed in the Range Rover. They got no problems from the guards posted there because Graine had called ahead. The guard at the gate had had a busy night from Graine. He’d been called to let in a Mercedes, a Range Rover, and a DC police cruiser. So far, he’d seen the Range Rover and the Mercedes—but no police car.
Lane led Grant down a couple of streets and through several turns. They looked around at all the old Victorian houses. Some had flagstone steps leading up to gates with more security that was hidden to the layman, but they noticed it right off. Some of the houses, the larger ones, had Secret Service agents standing watch at their front entrances. The agents stood in plain sight, meant to be deterrents as much as guards. Grant noticed security cameras hidden in trees in some of the yards. He smiled at the absurdity of it.
Americans are so predictable, he thought.
Lane parked the car in the driveway of the Rowley house, and Grant parked behind him. They got out and walked to the door. Grant rang the bell.
A moment later, Mrs. Rowley opened the front door and welcomed the men into her home. She said, “I’m so grateful you’ve come to help us. Doug told me that you all worked with him in the Army. My husband trusts you. Please come in and make yourselves at home.”
Lane said, “Thank you so much for your hospitality, ma’am. We just want to help bring your daughter home safely. Where’s Doug?”
“He’s in the family room. He said it was important to watch the news at 6:30.”
“It’s imperative, ma’am. Please come join us. We’ll discuss your daughter soon.”
Mrs. Rowley nodded, a little confused, but she’d b
een so out of it since Raggie’s disappearance that it all seemed normal to her. So she led them through the foyer, down the long twisting hallway, and into the family room.
Grant stayed close to Lane and didn’t speak. He didn’t want to let his British accent slip. The last guest to enter the room was the African man with no ears.
Mrs. Rowley stared at him, flummoxed. She’d always told Raggie’s cousins that it wasn’t polite to stare at her daughter’s stump, and yet she found herself unable to stop staring at this man. She raised her hand over her mouth in a failed attempt to cover her shock at his appearance.
The man said, “Mrs. Rowley. I knew your husband. Back in Africa. I’m here as a friend to offer my help as well.”
She said, “I’m…I’m sorry. I don’t mean to stare. Who are you?”
He said, “My name is Michael Chang. I knew your husband long ago in the bush.”
She said, “You were in the Army?”
“You could say that. I was in an army, just not the American one. I was in a rebellion, and your husband was on my side.”
“A rebellion? I don’t know anything about that. Did my husband help you?”
The man with no ears and no right arm smiled and said, “Your husband helped me to find out who I really am. So in a way, yes. He helped me.”
Chapter 49
OFFICER DAFTSHAW PULLED UP TO THE DRIVEWAY of the old Victorian house, parking his car on the street because there was no more room in the driveway. He turned back to Raggie and saw that she was still asleep. She reminded him one of his kids on a long car ride. Of course, the ex-wife had gotten custody of them, but she allowed him visitations—ironic since he was the one who paid child support and paid for most of their school clothes, supplies, and part of the rent. But he didn’t complain. He was the one who was never home. He was happy just to see them on the weekends.
Daftshaw turned off the ignition and went around to the back door. He opened it and reached in and shook her. Raggie opened her eyes slowly, feeling like maybe the whole ordeal had been a bad dream, but that lasted only a second until she saw Daftshaw.
She said, “We’re home.”
He said, “You’re home. Come on, let’s go.”
She smiled and leaped out of the car with Max in tow.
Daftshaw followed her up through an open gate and a bricked-in privacy fence. The house looked more like a small fortress than a home that people lived in.
They went to a side entrance instead of the front door. Daftshaw could tell it was the way Raggie had always entered her own house. And why not? It was her home.
His instincts had told him to ring the doorbell, which was also procedure, but he didn’t. He should’ve because as soon as he followed her in, he felt something was definitely off.
They walked in through the kitchen. Raggie ran through a large dining room and straight into the next room with Max following. She grabbed onto her mother and hugged her like she hadn’t seen her in years.
The thing that was very wrong was that there were four other men in the room, and three of them had guns drawn as soon as he showed his face in the dining room.
Max barked. One of the men, a guy with a British accent, said, “Shut that dog up!”
Raggie grabbed Max by the snout and fought him to keep it shut.
Daftshaw didn’t even reach for his gun. He was a slow draw and knew it. Plus, he might’ve stood a chance against one guy with a gun, but not three.
John Lane said, “Welcome, officer. Please come in.”
Daftshaw entered the living room and stayed standing. His heart started to pound. Some old part of his brain, the part that cared only about survival, knew he was going to die.
Lane pointed his gun at the officer and said, “Take off your belt slowly and toss it and your weapon over to us.”
Daftshaw did as he was told and then put his hands up.
Lane said, “Have a seat.”
Daftshaw sat on the couch.
Mrs. Rowley and Raggie held each other tight.
Mrs. Rowley said, “Please don’t hurt us, Doug. Please. Don’t let them.”
Graine said, “Shut up! I’ve listened to you and your mouth for hours! Just keep it shut!” He waved his gun around and then pointed it in their direction, swinging it back and forth between them like a pendulum.
Lane holstered his gun and said, “Take it easy. We need them.”
Graine backed off and holstered his gun but kept the safety off.
Grant kept his gun out and trained on the cop.
Chang said, “It’s time. Keep them all silent.”
Lane nodded.
Grant moved in close and picked up the cop’s gun and belt. He removed the gun, a Glock 19 loaded with 9mm Parabellums. He ejected the magazine and jerked the slide back in a quick fluid motion. The bullet in the chamber discharged and bounced and rolled on the carpet.
Grant picked up the clip and laid the bullets on the coffee table. He stuffed the empty gun into his waistband then walked in closer to the cop and sat out of grabbing distance. He kept the gun pointed at him.
Chang sat on the coffee table and pointed the remote at the TV and switched to CNN. He turned the volume up and remained glued to the events flashing across the screen. They cut to Air Force One. It had just landed and was taxiing up to a crowd of onlookers.
Blue siren lights flashed in the background from Secret Service vehicles and swept across a sea of faces. The camera was trained on the side of the plane as it pulled to a stop. It was the cleanest plane Raggie had ever seen.
The fuselage was painted white. There was a blue stripe across the side of the plane that curved down from the all blue top face of the nose. Above the wing in a big blue font were the words THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. Slightly underneath the strip, near the front of the wing, was the presidential seal. The tail had the American flag painted on it.
The camera was behind the second row of people and panned out to a wide shot which showed the plane taxiing to a stop. A large metal staircase attached to a white truck pulled up to the plane. The camera turned and focused on the tail end. A staircase dropped out of the plane, and people with suitcases started to exit. They seemed to be mostly Secret Service agents in suits and ties.
A group of agents walked out and then stopped to form a security perimeter around the front wheel of the plane—two on each side of the wheel and two by the nose. Two more agents stood on either side of the plane, near the engines, just underneath each of the wings.
The camera zoomed in on the front exit door. The hatch opened, and a Secret Service agent stepped into view. He pushed the hatch, and it swung open until it banged against the fuselage. It took a few minutes for the top of the metal staircase to inch into a perfect fit around the door. The agent stepped out and checked it. He looked at the railings and the platform to make sure it was secure. The Secret Service was responsible for more than just human threats. They were responsible for safeguarding the president against all enemies—even gravity and poor craftsmanship.
Raggie had never seen the president exit Air Force One before. She’d had no idea how much of an ordeal it was—or how boring it was. The camera focused on the open hatch at the top of the stairs. Other than the noise from the aircraft’s engines, there was absolutely nothing happening.
Chang seemed to get frustrated by this because his one hand squeezed the remote control in a kind of quiet tantrum. He squeezed it so tightly that Raggie could hear the plastic making cracking sounds from the pressure.
The news anchorman seemed to sense the boredom of the CNN viewers because he started to talk over the still images. He droned on and on about some kind of summit and about how the president returning was such a big deal because he’d never visited Africa in his entire presidency. The entire affair seemed to take forever, but in reality, it was only about fifteen minutes.
President Asher was a tall man in his late forties. He was one of the youngest presidents in American history, but not the youngest.
He finally emerged from the hatch and walked out onto the landing of the stairs. He waved to the spectators. He was the only person to emerge.
This was something that Lane and Chang hadn’t foreseen. Lane had studied hundreds of Air Force One landings all over the world. He’d spent weeks watching YouTube videos and had watched the actions of the Secret Service agents and studied their patterns. After viewing dozens of videos, he’d started to recognize the different patterns and security formations they were using. He knew their techniques. In the last four years, the current president had gotten off Air Force One one thousand and fifty-one times. And that was counting only the times that Lane could find video or documentation of.
Chang said, “Why’s he alone? Where’s Rowley?”
Raggie and her mother stared at Chang.
Raggie wasn’t aware of who these guys were or what exactly was going on, but she had a sense that it was something involving her father and the president. And she knew it was something bad. Her mother seemed to have absolutely no idea because she asked, “What does this have to do with Gibson? Doug? Talk to me!”
Graine said, “I told you two to shut up!”
Mrs. Rowley looked down and away. Raggie reached her hand out to hold her mother’s.
Lane said, “Relax. He exits alone. He’s the only one who uses the staircase at the front. Everyone else comes out the back.”
The president quick-stepped down the stairs on long, wiry legs. He made it to the bottom and had to walk through his security before he was greeted by a group of men in suits, all guys that Raggie didn’t recognize. They stood far from the press corps, shaking hands and talking for another five minutes before Raggie’s dad emerged in the background.
Chang stood up as soon as he saw Rowley. He stepped closer to the TV and stayed glued, waiting for something bad to happen.
Chapter 50
CAMERON AND CORD PARKED DOWN THE STREET from the Rowley house and waited for their backup to arrive.
Cord said, “We can’t wait long.”
Cameron said, “We won’t have to. Look, there she is.”
