Brown, Dale - Independent 04
Page 49
The entire twelve-square-block area around the White House was sealed off by the Secret Service and D.C. Police, and all streets were cordoned off. As the D.C. Police got more units into the area, the dozens of Secret Service agents deployed were able to withdraw into the White House compound itself, leaving the D.C. Police and National Park Service officers to deal with the sudden crunch of traffic and the flood of curious onlookers. In the confusion, no one noticed one of the Secret Service agents standing in the shadows near the statue of Alexander Hamilton as he removed his earpiece, then his jacket and tie, and casually walked off down the street toward the Hotel Washington and a waiting limousine.
“That was a really silly thing to do, Henri,” Gregory Townsend said as the limo headed off down Pennsylvania Avenue. He lowered the Browning Hi-Power semiautomatic pistol he held. “We should be a hundred miles from this bloody city.”
“I like Washington, Gregory,” Henri Cazaux said with a glint of humor in his eyes, adjusting the bandages that were tightly wound around his chest and ribs to try to make himself a bit more comfortable. “I think we will set up our new base of operations here. What do you think?”
Townsend motioned to a metal suitcase on the seat 1 across from them. “I think you should take your cash, use all of the survival skills you possess, and get out of this country as fast as you can,” Townsend said. “You know where Lake’s ranch is in Brazil, you can access his Swiss bank accounts, and you must have a plane or boat stashed somewhere—go to Brazil and relax for a while. The Americans will go back to business as usual soon, and that’s when you can consider coming back.”
“The Devil never takes a holiday,” Cazaux said. “My work is not finished, Gregory. You noticed how easy it was to slip into a closed presidential press conference as one of their own Secret Service agents? They are calling in even more agents, unrecognizable to each other. My goal is to get inside the White House itself, perhaps into the First Lady’s bedroom, fuck her, and finally destroy that place. Nothing will stop me.”
“Henri, the business accounts and contacts Lake set up for you are worth billions to us,” Townsend insisted. “If we go back into business, we’ll be the toast of the international arms market. We’ll command top dollar, and no one will screw with us. You are the top dog, Henri. Why waste all that on a scheme like buggering the Steel Magnolia?”
“Because I have a score to settle, Gregory,” Cazaux said, wincing as a muscle in his chest pulled one of the gunshot wounds wider. “Because I have been blessed with immortality. The money doesn’t matter, don’t you see that? Madame Vega was right—why waste my gift on selling a few weapons or smuggling drugs, when I can use my powers to destroy the greatest nation on earth? No, I have big plans for us, Gregory. I will have hundreds of soldiers that will rally to my side. I will destroy this entire city, and by doing so bring an entire nation to its knees. I will...”
“Oh, bloody hell,” Townsend muttered, rolling his eyes. “Henri, I’ve had enough.” He turned the Browning on Henri Cazaux, pulled the trigger, and squeezed off a halfdozen rounds. Fortunately, the Black Talon super-expanding low-velocity bullets did not bust out of the armored side doors of the security stretch limo. Cazaux looked at the glistening red bullet holes in his chest and stomach, and Townsend saw his eyes flare in red-hot, intense anger as he drew a knife from his behind-the-neck sheath—but Townsend was able to easily deflect Cazaux’s weak stab, disarm him, put one more bullet into Cazaux’s forehead, and topple the body to the floor. Townsend then calmly raised the privacy screen between the cabin and driver and aimed the smoking Browning at the driver.
“Who do you work for?”
“I work for Captain Townsend,” the driver replied immediately.
“Correct,” Townsend said. “Now find me a nice, quiet place to get rid of this mess.”