“You’re not going to hear President Petrov?” one of his aides asked him during their morning briefing.
“It’s an election year, kid,” Ryan said, lightly tapping the aide on the head with his cane. “Nothing is more important than holding onto power—and that includes listening to mindless speeches from the leaders of other world powers.”
“Sorry, sir. I guess I’m a bit more idealistic than you.”
“Stick around D.C. long, kid, and that’ll change.”
Ryan smiled as he leaned back in his chair and tucked his hands behind his head. His plan was coming together perfectly. America was in danger, even if the general population had no idea. But she was—her freedoms, her potential, her future. Lurking across large bodies of water were people who hated her, who envied her, who loathed her. And if the country’s defense wasn’t vigilant, everyone who was an American citizen would pay a heavy price. In Ryan’s opinion, America had paid enough already. She was going broke beneath the burden of policies enacted to make everyone equal, unaware that the pursuit of equality would lead to the destruction of the country’s basic freedoms. And Ryan was going to stop it, no matter what it required. He had no intention of leaving behind a world for his children and grandchildren that was destined to fail or worse—succumbed to the rule of some tyrant from the Middle East.
His phone buzzed and he picked it up.
“Yes.”
“Senator Ryan, Maggie Jordan from Time magazine is on the line for you. She had an interview scheduled for you at this time.”
“I’m ready for her,” he said. The line clicked and his secretary hung up. “Hi, Miss Jordan. What can I help you with today?”
“Thanks for talking with me today, Senator. I am working on a piece about the rise of terror threats in the Middle East on many different fronts and I wanted to get your perspective on things.”
Ryan’s eyes lit up. “Of course. What do you want to know?”
Over the next twenty minutes, Ryan pontificated about a number of subjects, including national security, homeland defense, the U.S. military’s presence in the Persian Gulf, and the future of the country’s long-range missile defense system. Nothing he said deviated from his party’s platform—though they were milk-toast opinions compared to the ones he espoused in private. But he ended strong.
“If we’re not careful, America is going to wake up one morning and realize that she’s not only in danger but that there are real threats who might just obliterate nearly two hundred and fifty years of freedom.”
The line went silent for a few moments before Jordan spoke again. “And who exactly are these threats?”
“They’re everywhere you look. We’re under siege and if you look closely, you’ll see who they are. We must be vigilant to protect our people and their freedoms and whatever cost. Otherwise, we might end up under Sharia law—or worse!”
“Aren’t you being a bit of an alarmist, senator?”
“Someone must sound the alarm or else we’ll all end up enslaved or dead. This isn’t something to nuance through political channels. We must be forthright and honest with the American people. Otherwise, they’ll never forgive us.”
The reporter asked a few more inane questions before hanging up.
Ryan, pleased with his performance, leaned back in his chair. It wasn’t close to the performance set to take place in the Senate chamber in about thirty minutes.
Once he unleashed the virus on the Senate floor, he’d be considered a prophet—and everyone would turn to him. He’d be the Winston Churchill of the twenty-first century.
It wouldn’t be long now.
CHAPTER 50
FLYNN JERKED AWAKE and glanced around the room as the sunlight streamed in through the floor-to-ceiling windows. He tried to move, which proved to be a more difficult task than he first thought. The ropes binding him to the chair gave little, if at all. He moved his head back, bumping Banks.
“Owww!” she said, awaking startled. “What the—”
Flynn tried to turn in her direction when he noticed they weren’t alone.
“Well, well, well. Welcome to the land of the living,” Kramer said. He strode across the room and stopped in front of Banks, stroking her face with the back of his hand.
She spat at him. “You think you’ll get away with this? Think again.”
Kramer threw his head back and laughed. “Think? I know I’ll get away with it. One federal agent and a former federal agent in a shoot out.”
He jammed a gun into each of their hands.
Banks pulled the trigger. Click. Nothing happened.
Kramer ripped the gun out of her hand. “I can’t believe you were so helpful, Special Agent Banks. Thank you for pulling the trigger. Now, I can pin several murders I’ve committed in the last week on you. They’ll paint you as the rogue agent. Brilliant.” He pause and took a deep breath. “Of course, you’ll never hear any of it. It’ll all be posthumously bestowed upon you. But that’s the immediate future of your legacy. Kinda shocking, isn’t it?”
Banks struggled to get free, managing to do nothing but inch the chair toward Kramer’s direction.
Flynn sighed. “Keep it together, Banks. He’s just trying to get inside your head.”
Kramer plodded toward Flynn. “Oh, I’m doing more than that—I’m creating a narrative, one that must stand up to our twenty-four hour news cycle. ‘The troubled federal agent and the jaded journalist,’” he said, making his way around to Flynn and pointing at him for emphasis. “This is coming together far more easily than I predicted, though I would’ve preferred you both died on the Columbia River.”
“Who are you working for, you sick bastard?” Banks growled.”
“Now, now. No need for name-calling. We’re all civil here.” A grin leaked across Kramer’s face. “I’m especially civil right before I kill someone. It’s only fair, right?”
“You’ll never get away with this!” Banks screamed.
“I already have,” Kramer said as he put on a mask and popped open a canister. He punched in a few numbers on the canister’s keypad and stood up. Without breaking stride, he kicked a box toward them and closed the door as he exited the room.
“What is that thing?” Banks asked.
“If I had to bet, I’d guess it was the virus,” Flynn said. “I have no idea how much time we have left, but I’d guess it isn’t much. We’ve gotta get outta here.”
“And how do you suggest we do that?”
Flynn snickered. “I’ve been in worse situations—believe me. This is nothing.”
“Well, do you mind getting us out of this nothing situation before we die?”
“It’d be my pleasure—just follow my lead.”
Flynn scooted toward the fireplace, quickly getting Banks in sync. He positioned them close enough so he could rub his bindings on the poker. After about a minute, Banks spoke up.
“Still think this is gonna work?”
“Patience,” Flynn said, still moving his bindings over the iron cast poker. “These things take time.”
“That’s a commodity we don’t have much of at the moment.”
“Wait for it—wait for it.” Then, snap! The rope shredded after Flynn’s persistent sawing. He untied himself and then worked on Banks’ bindings.
Once loosed, she dashed toward the front door, Flynn right behind her. Before the door shut behind them, they heard a click and a hissing noise.
“Is that what I think it was?” Banks asked.
Flynn didn’t flinch, reaching for the fire alarm on the wall and yanking it down. The sprinklers overhead sprayed water everywhere as grumpy tenants spilled into the hallway trying to figure out what was going on. Flynn and Banks hustled down the stairs ahead of the rush.
He stopped once they got clear of the building. “That should take care of it, but we’ve got more important things to do right now—like ruining the plans of Kramer and his cronies.”
Banks’ eyes narrowed. “What makes you think he has
cronies?”
“He doesn’t strike me as the type of person who could pull this off on his own. Do you feel differently?”
Banks shook his head. “Nope—I think he survives on brute strength, not wits.”
“My thoughts exactly.”
“Well, let’s shock them all. We’re running short on time.”
CHAPTER 51
MELISSA WATSON AWOKE to a blaring radio. A DJ explained the rules of his contest where the eighth caller could be entered to win a cruise to the Bahamas if they could correctly identify the clip he played. Watson rolled over and moaned, covering her head with the pillow. Not that it did any good.
Lauryn Hill crooned the words to an ominous song.
I know this one.
“So, Jessica, can you name that tune for a chance to win a cruise to the Bahamas?”
She said nothing for a few moments. “Is it Ashlee Simpson?”
“You are—incorrect. Sorry about that, Jessica.” The DJ’s apology was anything but heartfelt. “The correct answer is Lauryn Hill. That was ‘I Get Out.’ But hold on the line and we’ll hook you up with a Q107 prize pack.”
She stumbled toward the shower and contemplated her next move. With everything going on, she wanted to stay low, hide out for a while. She doubted she’d be able to sustain her incognito lifestyle for long. Eventually, they’d find her one way or another—and she knew it.
She was over halfway through her shower before she remembered the email she’d sent Rosalyn Booker. That put a quick end to the personal grooming. She rinsed the rest of the soap off and wrapped a towel around herself. Without another thought, she rushed toward her computer and opened it. She tapped on the keyboard to check her email and found a reply from Rosalyn Booker.
TO: Kim Welch ([email protected])
FROM: Rosalyn Booker ([email protected])
RE: Information
I’m covering President Petrov’s speech on Thursday morning. Meet me on Capitol Hill after his speech. I want to hear more. Just look for the WUSA Channel 9 news van and I’ll find you.
Warmest regards,
Rosalyn
It didn’t take long before she had gathered all her belongings in her suitcase and exited the hotel room. She slid her keycard to the clerk on duty and announced that she was checking out of her room.
“What room?” the clerk asked.
“Room two forty-two,” she said.
“Do you want a receipt, miss?”
Watson didn’t look back. She strolled out of the hotel and headed for her car.
CHAPTER 52
FLYNN BOUGHT A BURNER PHONE at the cell phone store on the corner, while Banks flagged down a cab. The taxi pulled up to the curb and they both piled in. The smooth reggae rhythms of Bob Marley pumped through the speakers. He liked Marley’s music, though he wasn’t in the mood to listen to it at the moment. Reggae was for the beach with a beer in your hand—not what you listen to when you’re trying to stop mad men from killing some of the most powerful men in the country.
Flynn checked his watch. Thirty minutes until Petrov was supposed to speak. Traffic ground to a halt. He tapped on the back of the front passenger seat nervously.
“What’s going on?” Banks asked, putting her hand on top of Flynn’s. She gave it a squeeze.
“Probably some dignitary in town,” the cabbie grumbled.
Flynn glanced at the meter and tossed the man fifty bucks and opened his door. “We’ll get out here.” He tugged Banks’ arm. “Let’s go. We’ve gotta hustle.”
Flynn turned on his phone and called Osborne.
“Where have you been?” Osborne asked. “I’ve been trying to reach you.”
“It’s a long story, but we’re alive and headed for Capitol Hill.”
“Look, I don’t know what you plan on doing, but this is gonna be tricky.”
“That goes without saying.”
“No, what I mean is that this is an inside job.”
Flynn stopped. “An inside job?”
Banks froze, too, and stared at Flynn as he listened to Osborne.
“Yeah, this just got really complicated,” Osborne said.
“The CIA has been behind this?”
“Not sure how high this goes to the top, but I overheard Vandenberg last night on the phone when I was leaving the office—and they definitely plan to release the virus.”
Flynn laughed. “Won’t make much difference to us?”
“Come again?”
Flynn took a deep breath. “The assassin who’s been hunting us tied us up and released the virus in the room. We’ve got twenty-four hours to get the antidote into our system.”
“Well, what are you doing going to the Capitol? Go get some medical help.”
“There’s only one person who knows how to make the antidote—and I have no way of contacting her.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure she’s the only one who can make it.”
“What makes you think that?”
“I heard Vandenberg talking about the antidote and having enough for everyone in the senate.”
“This is gonna be a disaster.”
“Not if you can stop it. I’ll try to send some agents over to help you out, but it’s going to be tight.”
“Banks and I will handle it. Just be prepared for the political fallout.”
Flynn hung up and looked at Banks. “Still got your badge?”
She held it up. “Let’s move.”
CHAPTER 53
DR. WATSON climbed the steps of the Metro station at the Archives exit. She didn’t want to keep Rosalyn Booker waiting. Sharing everything she knew with a television reporter was her Hail Mary. It might be enough to raise suspicion in the intelligence community—as well as keep her alive. But nothing was certain. The attention of the public could change as swiftly as some Hollywood starlet walking down the street and making a scene. She could be forgotten about in two hours or worse—she could be dead.
“Miss Booker!” she yelled as she hustled toward the reporter standing near the Capitol.
“You made it,” Booker said. “I was just about to give up on you.”
“Thank you for staying. This is really important.”
“I hope you’ll stay longer than Sergeant Thatcher did last night.”
Watson looked down and shook her head. “So you didn’t get a chance to talk to him?”
“Not on camera. He was too worried about what happened to you.”
Watson didn’t want to reveal all her cards at once. As much as she viewed Booker as an ally, she needed to make sure first. “Yeah, I had to leave in a hurry.”
Booker cocked her head and furrowed her brow. “Is everything okay?”
“It is now. Thanks for asking.”
“Good. So, let’s get down to business. I don’t have much time before I have to go cover the Russian president’s speech.”
Watson gave Booker permission to record their conversation on camera. She went on to detail everything—from her original assignment to create a vaccine for the virus, to working with Mosley to make an antidote, to her contact with Thatcher, to the vial he brought back from the desert, and finally to her abduction the night before.”
“How’d you escape?”
Watson smiled. “Never leave a good chemist in a lab full of active compounds.”
Booker laughed. “This is absolutely fascinating. Can anyone else corroborate your claims?”
“Thatcher can—once you find him.”
Booker’s eyebrows shot up. “You don’t know where he is?”
She shook her head. “I wish I did. One of the agents took him last night. I haven’t been able to reach him, though I must admit I’ve been reluctant to find him—at least until I talked to you.”
“Well, good luck. And when you find him, let me know so I can interview him. Finkle won’t let me run with your story unless I can verify it independently.”
“I understand. I’ll get you in touch as soon as I find him.”
<
br /> CHAPTER 54
KRAMER SNEERED AT THE GUARD who begged for his life. His pleas about having a family and a two-year-old daughter almost seemed to move Kramer, who hesitated for a moment. But only for a moment.
Bang! Bang!
Two clean shots to the head sent the guard tumbling to the floor in a bloody mess.
“Nice shot,” Kramer said as he looked at Staff Sgt. Thatcher.
“You sick, bastard,” Thatcher growled. “You’ll never get away with this.”
Kramer held up his index finger. “No, you’ll never get away with this—because I didn’t shoot him. You did.”
Thatcher struggled to get free from the bindings that kept him tethered to the chair in the large storage room on the second floor of the Capitol.
Kramer knelt down and attached a device to the ropes on his ankles. “Don’t worry. You’ll be freed just in time for you to get caught.” He slid the gun near the body of the guard lying still in a growing pool of blood. “And no one will believe your story, so you might want to save your breath.”
“I’m gonna hunt you down and kill you,” Thatcher said.
Kramer laughed. “Now, that’d be a trick even Houdini couldn’t pull off. But, hey, a person can dream, can’t he?”
Thatcher struggled again, feeling the rope burn his wrists, and he tried to break free.
Kramer shook his head. “It’s sad, really. A war hero turned traitor. Pathetic.” He turned and headed for the door before pausing once he put his hand on the handle. “I’ve still got more work to do—your work. But don’t worry. Ten more minutes and it’ll all be over.” He winked at Thatcher and closed the door behind him as he exited.
CHAPTER 55
OSBORNE PUNCHED THE NUMBERS on his phone and waited as the phone started to ring. He rehearsed in his head what he was going to tell the security agent who answered the phone, though he wasn’t sure it would have much effect.
“This is Todd Osborne from the CIA,” he said. “I need to talk to the head of security right now. It’s urgent.”
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