Admiral Smithy took over. "Sir, do you recall the last time four well-known agency heads, such as ourselves, who often appear on popular Sunday morning talk shows, simultaneously resigned during a President's first term in office?" The admiral suppressed a smirk.
"I'm not a historian, Admiral."
"I am, and it is unprecedented. Never happened. We won't have to say a word. Our resignations are a matter of public record. The media will have a field day."
The President frowned. "If you think you can come in here and bully me, you are mistaken. I have two years left in my term of office. Let the media speculate. I will claim I was misinformed. It will blow over. Simple as that."
Adornetto reasserted himself. "You may be right, Mr. President. You, and former holders of this office, have much power and influence, but that power is not absolute. Remember, things didn't work out for Nixon or LBJ."
Graham Steward plopped down in his leather chair and clasped his hands behind his head. "That was different. They didn't have all the bases covered, did they?"
"That's right." Adornetto pointed at the four letters of resignation. "You have four of the based covered."
"I'm glad you understand." Steward winked at him.
"...but the umpire can still call you out." Adornetto dropped a print of a picture of Ashley on top of the stack of resignations.
"What's that?"
"That's the fly in the ointment. The monkey wrench in the machinery. The David that slew Goliath."
The President held the picture and studied it. "I don't get it?"
Ed Delong leaned over and gazed at the picture, along with the leader of the free world. "That battered beauty is Special Agent Ashley Kohen who survived the recent disintegration of a DC3 carrying a suitcase nuke over Nevada. She is an eyewitness to the fact that our intelligence community averted a catastrophic attack on the homeland–under your leadership."
"Where did you get this picture?"
Enjoying the moment, Delong answered. "After your address to the nation it popped up on my phone this morning. It's time dated earlier today."
Adornetto nodded. "I got one, too."
""So did I," said Fitzgerald.
Admiral Smithy arched his eyebrows and held his phone. "I downloaded mine from YouTube."
President Graham Steward's hand trembled as he held the photo. Beads of sweat formed on his upper lip. "You mean this is in the public domain?"
"Hey, we had nothing to do with that," replied the Director of National Intelligence. "But I'd bet its widespread discovery is certain."
The room was silent. No one moved. Eugene Petit could be heard humming God Bless America outside the Oval Office. The President slumped forward. "They'll eat me alive."
"Who’ll eat you alive?"
As if mortally wounded, the man behind the desk groaned, "The press. The Congress. My enemies."
Adornetto moved in for the kill. "It doesn't have to be that way, Mr. President."
With a vacant look in his eyes he asked, "It doesn't?"
"No, sir. You can turn this to your advantages. We can help you."
"How can you protect me from this?" He shook the picture in their faces. “It’s on the internet. Living proof of the attack.”
"It’s not too late. Embrace it. Make it part of your legacy. This brave young woman will become a symbol of your leadership."
Steward tipped his head back and gazed at the ceiling. In a defeated voice he asked, "What do I have to do?"
The agency heads glanced at one another sharing a look of triumph.
"Lift the gag-order. Take credit for fending off an attack far greater than anything ever seen in the nation's history. You'll be a hero, and so will we.”
Steward stared into the eyes of this man who dared to challenge his authority, the ringleader of a bureaucratic rebellion. He propped the picture of Ashley on his desk and reached for the pile of resignations. He lifted them as if to discover their weight. Then, in a loud voice he shouted, “Eugene, get in here. I have some paper for you to shred.” His expression morphed from hopelessness to one of renewed confidence. “And get Press Secretary Mark Ward in here, too. I have to call a press conference, right now. The country needs to know I’m doin’ a heck of a job!”
SEVENTY-EIGHT
A CLEAR PLASTIC BAG of fluid hung over Ashley’s head. At the bottom of the bag a tube fed the watery substance into a tiny glass cylinder. She watched a steady drip appear inside the cylinder, then drop methodically into the delivery tube letting it enter her bloodstream. She calculated a drop formed every 10 seconds.
Peggie, a petite, slightly overweight, round-faced nurse hovered nearby. Ashley pointed at the bag, “What’s that stuff?”
“Don’t you worry yourself about things like that, my dear. It’s medicine.”
Ashley took a deep breath and exhaled. Whatever it was, it made her feel good. Not good like a drug induced euphoria, but good like in ‘feeling no pain’. She touched her partially shaved head. Still numb and a bit bumpy around the sutures, she tried to count them. Eight altogether.
“Now dear, don’t touch those stitches, you don’t want to get them infected, do you?”
Ashley shook her head. Peggie was a bit of a magpie, always chattering about something or someone, but good-hearted and eager to please. With a little encouragement she’d tell you everything she knew. After lunch she told Ashley those nice men outside her door wouldn’t be back because the general was sure she would be safe now. That meant Ashley could hobble out the door if she had a mind to, which she didn’t. Hobbling would require her to drag a Frankenstein sized boot that protected her swollen ankle. The doctor who treated her foot called it a malleolar fracture. Whatever that was, it still hurt and she was content to stay put for the immediate future.
Peggie left the white hospital room, and then returned ten minutes later. “Oh, Ashley. You have a visitor,” she announced. “It’s Colonel Myers.”
Ashley raised her head. Myers stood in the doorway with a genuine smile on his face. He moved into the room. “Agent Kohen, I have good news for you.” She didn’t respond. “General Brunel is transferring you to the Los Vegas South Springs Rehabilitation Hospital downtown. We’ve done all we can do for you here.”
She couldn’t resist, “Will I have an armed guard?”
“Oh, no. That was only a precaution. You’ll find the folks at the rehab center highly professional.” He stepped closer and lowered his voice. “It’s been an honor to serve you Agent Kohen.” The colonel snapped to attention, saluted and then made a smart about-face and left the room.
It took a few seconds for Ashley to react. She shut her mouth and put her hand to her forehead. What in the hell was that?
Peggie fidgeted with a stethoscope hanging around her neck. “Isn’t Colonel Myers a nice man, and handsome, too.” Ashley considered several answers and rejected them all. “All right dearie, we have to get ourselves dressed and ready to go.”
“Go where?”
“Why to South Springs, like the Colonel said. I have all your things in this bag and some fresh clothes for you to wear.” She held a zippered desert khaki bag and an arm full of matching clothes. Peggie split open the Velcro straps on the orthopedic boot. “There, we have Mr. Black Boot off, how let’s put our pants on. You be careful with your ankle, now.” The dressing operation took longer than necessary because Ashley offered minimal cooperation.
Soon she found herself dressed and sitting on the edge of the bed when a burly male nurse rolled a wheelchair in and positioned it by her side. He offered a muscular arm and assisted her into the chair. Peggie handed her the zippered bag and a pair of green and tan crutches. Ashley felt relieved the wheelchair wasn’t camouflaged, too. They loaded her into an unmarked white van.
South Springs Hospital was a 30-minute drive across town. It felt good to get out into America again. The glittering hotels, flashing lights and cascading fountains made her feel right with the world. She thought about what it might ha
ve looked like today if the terrorists had been successful in their plans.
The walls of the two story rehab hospital were made of reflective glass that sparkled in the sunlight. Two staff sergeants dressed in airman-blue helped her out of the truck and wheeled her into the back entrance. Two security guards met them at the door. The airmen, with young eager faces, saluted Ashley. She thanked them with an uncertain tone in her voice. They marched back to the truck as the guards wheeled their patient into a small waiting room a few feet off the lobby. One guard stood by as the other left the room. Ashley turned to the man, “What’s going on?”
The man cut his eyes toward her. “Don’t you know?”
“Know what?”
Before he could answer, Walter Kent and Bill Johnson walked into the room. Breathlessness overtook Ashley. Because her Frankenstein boot got trapped in the footrests of the wheelchair, she stumbled when she tried to get up. Walter caught her in his arms before she fell. Ashley climbed up his frame and locked both arms around his neck. Tears surged over her cheeks as she burst into a radiant smile. He kissed her lightly, and then pulled her close.
Over Walter’s shoulder Ashley saw Bill Johnson and extended a hand to him. Bill took it and bowed as if meeting the queen. He then turned to shield this tender greeting from interruption. That’s when he saw a blond-haired man, impeccably dressed in a white suit and black tie, waiting patiently nearby. He signaled to the man and they met halfway. “Yes?” Bill asked.
“I’m Kevin Weber the hospital administrator. I can see this is…a private moment, and I don’t mean to interfere, but I have a hospital to run. You must understand.” Weber motioned for Bill to follow him into the lobby.
When Bill returned with Weber in tow, Walter was helping Ashley back into the wheelchair. “I don’t need this thing,” she complained.
Bill whispered in Walter’s ear, who nodded. “Call Ramirez, he’ll know what to do.”
Ashley perked up. “Ramirez? Mark is here?”
“Yep, I’ve brought half the field office.” Walter grinned. “Well, not half, but enough to do the job.”
“Do what job?”
Walter leaned down, found a spot where there wasn’t a bandage, and kissed her. “That will have to hold you for a while, Ashley.”
She spread the palms of her hands out with a perplexed look. “What?”
“I’ll show you.” Walter guided the wheelchair into the lobby and stopped behind the two glass front doors. Ashley leaned forward, squinted her eyes, and then recoiled. “God almighty, what is all that?”
“It’s your fifteen minutes or maybe fifteen years of fame waiting for you.”
Ashley gripped the arms of the wheelchair and straightened her body. Arrayed outside was a hoard of journalists holding microphones. They stood pressed against a rickety barricade hastily thrown-up. Photographers leaned forward holding every kind of camera. Reporters jostled to get the best position for an interview. Mobile trucks and vans with satellite dishes were parked behind the crowd of eager broadcasters. They waited like hungry piranhas eyeing their prey.
Ashley stared into the eyes of Walter. “I can’t go out there.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll protect you. I have a team of agents ready to manage that bunch. You’ll be safe.”
Ashley shook her head. “No Walter. I mean I can’t go out there like this. Look at me. Bandages, hair a mess, baggy clothes that don’t fit. This bad-ass boot. I look ridiculous. No way am I going out there.”
Walter held on to the wheelchair as he laughed hard enough to make him unsteady. When he recovered, he bent over and tilted her face up to his. “You couldn’t look bad no matter how hard you tried.” She smothered a grin. “Your assignment, Special Agent Kohen is crowd control. I’ve got your back.”
The Seventh Message Page 34
