Chapter 14
As the door crashed open, Agent Clark fired her Sig Sauer P226. Senator Baker dived to the ground as the bullet ripped through the air, towards him. The bullet didn’t deviate from its trajectory and hit its target dead center. The Senator’s dive was in vain. The bullet striking Agent Travis’s outstretched gun as was always intended.
“Nobody move a muscle!” screamed Agent Clark over Travis’ cries of pain.
The two officers behind Travis stopped in their tracks. Clark had them cold. Neither cared to take her on, particularly when her gun was already drawn and theirs remained in their holsters.
“Travis, step aside,” she demanded, before motioning to the other officers. “You two, take your weapons out, butt first, and drop them. Then move over there.”
“What the hell are you doing Clark?” managed Travis through gritted teeth, the pain in his hand intense.
“Protecting the Senator, Travis.”
“By shooting me?” he shouted.
“Don’t be such a pussy, I shot your gun.”
She turned to the other officers who were dropping their guns. “Now move over there. Senator, would you mind picking up the guns, please.”
“Clark, have you gone insane? We’re on your side!” argued Travis, moving over to stand next to the other agents.
“Not according to the Senator,” replied Clark.
Travis turned towards the Senator questioningly.
“Don’t come the innocent with me, Son,” said Senator Baker angrily as he bent over to retrieve the guns.
“I haven’t got the faintest idea what the hell you’re talking about.”
“You were sent here to kill me,” replied the Senator.
The two officers, on hearing the Senator’s revelation, pounced. The first dived towards the Senator and the two guns.
Clark didn’t miss a beat. She drilled the diving officer through his outstretched hand, rendering it useless. The second officer paused, caught in two minds, but his hand was played. They knew he was there for duties unbecoming of an officer of the US Capitol Police Force. With Travis and the diving officer clutching their hands in agony, Clark was struggling to cover all three. She glanced at the Senator who had managed to evade the diving officer but he offered her no more suggestion than a half-hearted shrug. With her eyes averted, the second officer made his move, launching himself towards Clark.
Clark, however, was not where she was because of stupidity. She had sensed the officer was going to make his move. Her glance towards the Senator was her ‘come on’. As soon as the officer had flinched, the bullet was already heading towards his kneecap.
With Travis and the two officers writhing around in agony, Clark grabbed the Senator’s elbow and rushed him out of the room. Her first duty was to protect the Senator. Her second and more pressing duty was to find out exactly what the hell was going on.
Chapter 15
A number of nervous faces greeted the entry of an obviously upset VP. As the door slammed shut behind him, he took his seat at the head of the table. Present in the room were a number of presidential appointees, all loyal to the sitting President, but even more loyal to his likely successor, his Rottweiler and surrogate son, Andrew Russell. The VP looked at the attendees with contempt.
“Well?” he asked.
Each of the three attendees sat silently.
“Don’t just look at one another, somebody tell me how they’re going to sort out this fucking mess???!!!!” screamed Russell, slamming the table for effect.
Between the four attendees, they commanded pretty much every member of law enforcement and the military in the country but not one dared return Russell’s glare for fear he picked on them. Russell had, since the day he entered the Vice Presidents office, seven years earlier, rewritten the rule book for Vice Presidents. He was the President’s right hand man and more akin to a Chief of Staff than the normal media friendly political running mate. The President was a thinker, a grand plan dreamer, while Russell was a doer. Many had tried, during the first term, to gain the ear of the President and circumvent Russell; none had survived in politics to tell the tale. The second term had sealed Russell’s power and was, as the election neared, marginalizing the lame duck President for the likely succession of Russell.
Up until just a few months earlier, everything had been running to plan. He had been the natural choice for the republican nominee in the presidential race. That was until Charles Baker had been thrown into the ring. His liberal views were winning over many of the Republicans as they fought a closely contested fight for the Republican nomination. Russell had reached out and offered Baker the VP ticket but Baker had refused, saying ‘thanks but I’m going to give the big ticket a go.’ In the heartland, Russell was fine but on the coasts, Baker was trouncing him. It was close and for Russell, close was too close. Baker needed to be gone. Plans were in play that Baker would never allow to continue. Too much was at stake. The very future of America and her allies required Russell to be in power.
“Jesus, will one of you useless fucks tell me what happened?”
“We’re still trying to piece things together. As for Sam, we have no idea. Our men have gone off the radar. We have a satellite fly-past on Sam’s property in the next few minutes and hopefully that will give us something,” responded Johnson nervously. Turning to face Jim Gates, the Secretary of Homeland Security, he continued. “As for the Chairman, it seems a couple of Secret Service agents appeared and got to him before our operatives could.”
With over 200,000 staff dedicated to the protection of US citizens within the US, Homeland Security was the second most powerful department within the US Government after Defense and had within its remit the United States Secret Service.
“It seems you’re losing your touch, Jimmy boy,” added Johnson, delighted to push the blame for at least one cock-up elsewhere.
“Our operatives have confirmed they were set upon by a secret service agent who had, believe it or not, already fired upon her colleague.”
Russell turned to Gates. “Well?”
“Marx at the Service is surrounded by old guard,” responded Gates shrugging his shoulders. “If he gets a threat against a potential presidential candidate, he’d have to act. What can I say other than if we’d dealt with the brother, everything would have worked perfectly. That’s the problem,” he added, pushing the blame firmly back into Johnson’s court.
“Anyway, none of this solves the problem in hand. What are we going to do?” asked Russell.
“Gentlemen,” Henry Preston’s voice boomed across the room. The Director of National Intelligence was an imposing figure with an even more imposing voice. Glasses vibrated as his bass note tones resonated through the room. As he scrolled through his Blackberry, he continued. “Before we came into the room, I instructed each of the sixteen agencies within my control to leave no stone unturned in their search for Charles Baker. The cover story is that he has been taken against his will and is being held hostage, by a team of international assassins. Any sighting is to be reported to Homeland Security and will be dealt with at the highest level. That is, by us. A news blackout has been imposed, so you won’t hear anything. We’ve suggested Al Qaeda to ensure no reporter interferes. The Patriot Act is a truly wonderful thing. I have asked each department for half-hour updates.”
With every law enforcement and intelligence agency within the US reporting into him, Preston commanded a staggering force.
“It seems the fly-past has occurred and a detailed scan has been carried out on Sam Baker’s property. It’s not good gentlemen. In fact, far worse than any of us could have imagined.” Preston paused as he scrolled through
