“A lot of firsts,” Zander replied.
“I understand. First time meeting the President.”
“I’m more concerned with ‘first time breaking into the White House.’”
I smiled. Had it been six months since my “first time”? However, I’d had a wealth of other experiences with the nanomites under my belt that had bolstered my confidence, whereas Zander’s relationship with them was new and, as yet, untried.
“We have an invitation, remember?”
“Not that the Secret Service knows of.”
“And we’re invisible.”
“Riiight.”
We strolled along Lafayette Park, observing the late evening tourists peering through the bars of the wrought iron fence and taking photographs of the West Wing and the White House’s north-facing portico. We walked the length of the park and back—enough time, I hoped, for Zander to settle his nerves and prepare himself for our next move.
When we had walked back to the northeast gate, I pointed. A car was pulling into the drive, and the gate was still open.
“Here we go.”
Up the shaded, curving drive we went, giving the guardhouse near the top a wide berth. I led Zander up the steps of the portico to the state entrance. The nanomites knew what to do. When I reached for the double doors, they were already unlocked, the sensors and other security measures temporarily defeated.
We slipped inside and let the door close behind us. We were both wearing new cloth-soled shoes, the kind that didn’t squeak on tile or linoleum.
The Entrance Hall and Cross Hall of the State Entrance are pretty awe-inspiring, even the second time around and despite a Secret Service agent standing post nearby. I figured Zander was rubbernecking, but I was, too. After we’d gawked a few minutes, I touched his arm, and we moved toward the Grand Staircase on our left.
Zander and I crept up the stairs to the Residence level, the nanomites checking the way ahead of us. When we reached the Residence landing I felt more comfortable. I’d spent a whole night on this floor, briefing President Jackson on Harmon’s plot and helping him plan his countermoves.
“Stay close,” I whispered to Zander. I led the way from the landing to the West Sitting Hall. The door to the Residence Dining Room was open.
We stepped into the room, and the nanomites uncovered us. I even had the nanomites dissolve their disguise on my facial features.
The President and First Lady looked up. They were seated at the dining table, waiting for us—but before I could utter a word of greeting, the nanomites stopped me.
Jayda Cruz, we have detected a listening device in this room.
I placed my finger to my lips and shook my head.
“Nano, take care of the bugs, please.” They were already flying from me before I finished my request.
My gesture had prevented our hosts from speaking, but it had not checked the look of fury that crossed the President’s face when he realized what I meant. Mrs. Jackson, not quite on the same page yet, gripped her husband’s hand, her eyes wide.
The four of us waited in silence until the nanomites returned to me.
We have permanently disabled the device, Jayda Cruz. It will appear that the apparatus shorted out.
“Thank you, Nano.”
I addressed our hosts. “Good evening, Mr. President, Mrs. Jackson.”
They both rose at my greeting, and Maddie Jackson responded first. She came toward us, smiling a welcome, taking my hand in hers. “Gemma. So good to see you again.”
“Thank you, ma’am. It is good to see you, too.”
The President held out his hand. “Miss Keyes, thank you for coming. I take it our dining room was bugged?” He was still furious, but not at me.
“It is an honor, sir. And, yes, the room was bugged. The nanomites have permanently disabled it; however, I should think whoever installed it will replace it as soon as they can.”
I turned toward Zander. “May I introduce my husband, Zander Cruz?”
The President extended his hand. “Thank you for coming, Mr. Cruz.”
As shell-shocked as he was, Zander managed the surreal situation. “A pleasure, sir.”
Maddie Jackson glanced from Zander to me. “Our congratulations on your wedding—and our apologies for using the wrong names.”
“Yes, ma’am. I’m Jayda Cruz now.”
“It must have been difficult, my dear, to let go of your life as Gemma.”
“In some respects, it was, ma’am. In others, it was quite freeing. No one is hunting Jayda Cruz.”
“And we want to keep it that way,” Robert Jackson said. “Come. Sit down with us. I hope you brought your appetites?”
“Always, sir,” I laughed.
The table was set for seven and spread with enough food to feed a platoon.
Maddie Jackson took my arm and led me to the seat next to hers. “We invited our son and his crew to dinner with us this evening. His three boys are teens now, and they eat like NFL linebackers. Sadly, at the last moment—after the staff had laid the table and placed the food, in fact—my son and his family were . . . unavoidably detained.”
She waggled her brows. “It’s too bad, really. Our chef even baked his famous Coconut Dream cookies especially for our dinner guests. Robert and I would hate for them . . . to go to waste.”
“Oh, me, too, ma’am.”
Mrs. Jackson and I exchanged smiles of mutual appreciation.
The President gestured to Zander. “Please, Mr. Cruz, take this seat. Plenty of time to talk shop after we’ve enjoyed our dinner.”
And enjoy it we did. While Zander and I plowed into the feast set before us, Robert Jackson cut into a lean steak with a side of steamed vegetables and Mrs. Jackson nibbled on a chicken salad. I caught Maddie staring at me as I put away a third helping of loaded mashed potatoes and reached for a slice of cake.
Shaking her head, she muttered, “It’s not fair. Really, it’s not.”
I grinned around a forkful of red velvet cake with cream cheese frosting. “No, ma’am.”
The President cast a woeful glance between my wedge of cake and his vegetables. “It sure isn’t.”
Laying aside his fork, he began to regale Zander with his and the First Lady’s reaction to their initial encounter with me. “I thought I’d lost my mind, frankly,” Jackson said. “Here was this earnest young woman who had somehow slipped through White House security, standing in our living room. ‘Excuse me, Mr. President,’ she says, very politely. ‘May I have a few minutes of your time?’”
Jackson’s mimicry was good enough to elicit chuckles around the table.
“Well, civility be hanged; I, of course, tried to yell for the Secret Service—only to discover that I could not open my mouth. Her nanomites had sealed it shut! I thought I had been dropped into an episode of the Twilight Zone.”
“I’m very sorry, Mr. President. That had to be terrifying.” I felt worse about it now than I had at the time.
“Terrifying? It was, but all in all, you handled yourself well that evening, Gem—er, Jayda.”
Mrs. Jackson interjected a dry observation. “It wasn’t long into their acquaintance, however, before they were shouting at each other.”
Zander gaped at me. “You shouted at the President?”
I had the grace to blush. “I did—and I apologize again, Mr. President—but when I told him that his life was in danger, he . . .” I glanced at Robert Jackson, “you didn’t believe me.”
“I think you mean I accused you of being the danger.”
“Yes, sir. That’s when I lost my temper and, er, raised my voice.”
Maddie Jackson took over the narration. “When their ‘raised voices’ awakened me, I barged into the living room, breathing smoke and fire, ready to raise a little dust myself. I found Robert and this unfamiliar young woman glaring at each other—and then, poof. The young woman disappeared.”
She fixed Zander with a look. “It was, beyond all comparison, the strangest moment of
my life.”
“I can imagine, ma’am.”
“I wager you can—but now you and, er, Jayda share this ability?”
Zander and I explained how the nanomites had doubled their numbers and why. We even talked a little of our unconventional courtship and wedding. President and Mrs. Jackson listened with genuine interest, asking questions and often shaking their heads in amazement.
When dinner was behind us—the remains of the feast bearing resemblance to the track of an F5 tornado—the President stood and ushered us into their private living room. A man I recognized stood as we entered.
Before anyone said anything, the President pointed to the ceiling and raised his brows in a silent question.
“Clean, sir,” I reported after a brief pause.
“Thank the Lord. I hope it is all right with both of you that I have asked Axel Kennedy to join us for your briefing?”
“Of course, Mr. President. Good to see you again, Mr. Kennedy.”
“I’d say, ‘the feeling’s mutual,’ except I’ve never actually met you—or even seen you, Ms. Cruz.”
I laughed in surprised realization. “I guess you’re right. My presence last time was . . . covert.”
President Jackson explained, “After we began working with Agent Trujillo to track down Cushing last December, I briefed Axel on what happened in the Oval Office when Harmon died. He’d seen and heard some confounding things that day, things he couldn’t wrap his head around.”
“As honored as I am for the President to take me into his confidences, I’ve had difficulty believing a lot of what he’s said about you—and now there are two of you?”
“I’m afraid so. This is my husband, Zander Cruz.”
“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Cruz.” Kennedy glanced at the President, who nodded. “Would you mind . . . so I can lay my disbelief to rest?”
“You’d like a demonstration?”
Kennedy shifted in discomfort. “If you please.”
I shrugged—and disappeared. Seconds later, I tapped Kennedy on his shoulder.
He spun toward me—and I reappeared.
He took a step back. “Unbelievable.”
“Satisfied, Axel?” the President asked.
“Once more?
This time I disappeared and reappeared behind the President and Mrs. Jackson.
“Now, Axel?”
“Um, yes, sir.”
“Then let’s sit down and begin, shall we?”
The five of us found seats and the President spoke first.
“Well, Jayda, Agent Gamble conveyed your message regarding my friend Wayne to Axel, who passed it to me, but I confess that the details may have become a bit garbled in translation. I asked you here because I wanted to hear it from you directly.”
“I understand, sir.”
“I think it would help to hear everything you’ve done and found since beginning your assignment. Within this room and for the sake of this investigation, I give you permission to reveal and speak of classified information.”
The President’s words “your assignment” drove home the point that my “job” was only a cover, a front, a means to an end—and that end was to expose Harmon’s fellow conspirators in his attempt to usurp the presidency. It hit me anew how important my role was, and how acutely unprepared I was to carry the weight of such a responsibility.
For the next hour I explained the department I’d been assigned to, my position in the Repository, and how I’d provided the nanomites with access to the NSA’s main network. I detailed how the nanomites had downloaded the NSA’s floor plans, badge tracking data, and video feed.
I segued into Wayne Overman’s movements on his last day at the NSA. “The nanomites discovered that the badge tracking data had been edited to show that Mr. Overman left work as usual (although later than was his norm), thus drawing the investigation into his disappearance away from the NSA. Fortunately, the nanomites were able to recover enough of the deleted data to recreate his actual movements and the movements of those around him.”
Jayda Cruz, perhaps it would be helpful if we projected a rendering of the data for the President’s benefit while you provide necessary commentary.
“Great idea, Nano.”
Before I could prepare my audience, the nanomites dimmed the lights in the room. A sparkling stream floated from me to the coffee table between our seats and resolved into a 3D image.
“Um, the nanomites are providing visuals for us. What you see here is the floor plan of Mr. Overman’s floor and his office.”
“Fascinating,” the President murmured.
Out of habit and training, Kennedy had jumped to his feet and moved to the President’s side when the lights dimmed. He stood guard there for a minute before resuming his seat.
I explained to my audience, “The nanomites have superimposed the recovered badge tracking data onto this floor plan. Please watch the footprints and keep one eye on the time stamp as it progresses.”
As I walked them through the data, including Overman’s escorted, after-hours trip to the Deputy Director’s office and the four SPOs, in lockstep, carrying Overman down to the basement, the President’s expression sank.
“When Axel reported your findings, I didn’t want to believe them. Didn’t want to admit that Wayne was gone. However, I see now how you came to your conclusions.”
The projected schematic faded, and the lights came up.
“How do you intend to proceed, Ms. Cruz?”
“Sir, we have identified the four SPOs involved from their badge IDs, and we know the Deputy Director was more than complicit. He gave them their instructions.”
“Yes, Danforth. He’s a weasel, but at least he’s a civilian—as was Harmon. The NSA Director, however, is Department of Defense. We know Harmon had a man inside the Army’s infectious diseases unit, and I have been hoping that a single soldier is as far as the infection has spread into the DOD. If the NSA Director were to be implicated, it would suggest a much deeper vein of traitors in the military. I hope that you, Jayda, will be able to rule the Director in or out of the conspiracy.”
Jackson looked at Kennedy. “Axel, the Residence dining room was bugged. Our friends here disabled the device, but they are right in saying our enemies will likely replace it at their first opportunity.”
The President, with hunted eyes, studied Zander and me. “Our enemies appear to be embedded in all facets of government, and they are encroaching on us here in the White House, too—here where I am supposed to be safe and my conversations private. They have plants within the White House Secret Service detail.
“Since only my personal detail is allowed in the Residence and Kennedy trusts them, our enemies evidently have plants in the house’s staff. Someone on the same staff that changes our linens and serves our food bugged our personal dining room, for heaven’s sake!
“The Secret Service is supposed to sweep the house for listening devices daily, but if the Service is compromised, how can I have confidence that they haven’t wiretapped the entire West Wing, even the Oval Office?”
He sighed. “My administration is under siege. I don’t know how much longer we can pretend that we don’t know about their infiltration of the White House.”
“Sir,” Axel spoke, “if you are to conduct the business of our nation, we must act—even if it reveals that we know we are under attack. I just don’t know how we can prove who the bad actors are and provide justification for dismissing them. If we could ferret them out, catch them at it, we could have them dismissed.”
I had been thinking hard and had come up with an idea. “I would help if I could, but I have my hands full at the NSA. What if . . .” I slanted a look at Zander. “What if Zander were to aid you? He and the nanomites could sweep the White House and deactivate any listening devices he finds. And he could turn the tables on the enemy’s agents planted in the ranks of the White House detail. Zander can walk throughout the house without notice, listen in on those who listen in on you, identify th
ose who have been planted here, and snoop through their phones looking for links to other conspirators.”
Three people turned their speculative examination on Zander—who squirmed under their scrutiny.
“Suppose Zander did catch a plant red-handed. How would that provide the justification we needed to have them dismissed—or arrested?”
“Maybe . . . maybe we don’t need to have them dismissed to get rid of them, Mr. President. I would like the opportunity to brainstorm other methods of removing them with the nanomites. In any event, even knowing for certain who your enemies are gives you certain advantages.”
The President looked to Kennedy and back before he agreed. “All right. Zander, set a time to meet Axel tomorrow. And I freely confess that I’ll feel a bit less outnumbered with you close by.”
Mrs. Jackson excused herself from the room as the President, Axel Kennedy, and Zander discussed the logistics of how best to use Zander. I folded in on my own thoughts as they strategized.
When Maddie returned, the President stood—and we stood with him. “Thank you for lending us your husband, Ms. Cruz,” Jackson said. “The next few days or weeks should be . . . interesting. As for you and the NSA? Carry on. I want the guilty held accountable.”
“I’m sure you understand, Mr. President, that it would be inadvisable to move against the individuals we’ve identified within the NSA at this time. As you say, we want to root out in their entirety those who conspired with Harmon.”
“What do you propose, Ms. Cruz?”
I had my ideas now, even if I didn’t know how we’d pull it off. With Zander’s assignment at the White House and mine at the NSA, we were going to be strapped for resources.
That didn’t deter me from stating my intentions.
“Sir, we’re going to follow the conspirators we’ve identified. We will invade every nook, crack, and cranny of their lives. Our scrutiny will be pervasive, relentless, and inescapable. We will not stop until one or more of them leads us to the next link in the chain.”
I felt Zander’s questioning gaze flick my way.
The President, however, signaled his approval. “Be careful, Jayda. And Godspeed.”
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