“I’ll need that home address.”
“We can’t give out that sort of information.”
Robie took a long stride until he was within a couple inches of her.
“I don’t like playing the asshole, but in this case I’m going to. This is a case of national security. And if you have information that might be able to stop an attack against this country and you don’t provide it to a federal officer who has requested it, you’re going to prison, for a very long time.”
The woman gasped, then said, “Follow me.”
A minute later Robie was flying down the road in his car.
CHAPTER
91
The Van Beurens lived about twenty minutes from the hospice center.
Robie made it there in fifteen.
The homes were solidly middle-class. Basketball hoops. Vans and American-made cars in short asphalt driveways. Do-it-yourself landscaping. Not a butler or Rolls-Royce in sight.
Robie zeroed in on the Van Beurens’ house. It was set at the end of the street. The home was dark, but one vehicle was parked in the driveway.
Robie stopped his car at the curb, pulled out his pistol, and crept toward the house. He didn’t knock at the front door. He peered in one of the windows. He couldn’t see anything.
He hurried around to the back. Putting his elbow through the glass in the back door, he reached through and turned the lock. He pulled a flashlight and made his way through the house. It didn’t take him long. He ended up in the front room after clearing the others.
He shined his light around. It hit on various objects on walls and shelves. He passed one item and then came back to it. He rushed over and snatched it up.
It was a photo of the Van Beurens.
Mother, daughter, and father.
Mom was in her combat fatigues.
Robie’s gaze focused on Dad.
George Van Beuren was also in uniform, a very distinctive one. White shirt, dark pants. Dark cap.
It was the uniform of the United States Secret Service Uniformed Division.
George Van Beuren helped to guard the president of the United States.
And then in a flash of synapses Robie finally made the connection.
He was watching Annie Lambert walking down the hall. He had lost her for about thirty seconds. But then regained her. She had changed clothes in those few seconds.
And then Robie forgot all about Annie Lambert and took his mind back to that airplane hangar in Morocco. Through his scope he had watched Khalid bin Talal climb the steps to his jet. After that he had lost sight of the prince for a brief period. And then he had regained him as the Saudi walked down the aisle of the plane and took his seat across from the Russian and Palestinian.
That’s when Robie had noticed the straps around the prince’s middle. He had assumed it was the straps holding on his body armor. But the prince had not been wearing body armor before he got on the plane. Robie had been watching him closely. He would have seen the outline of the armored vest under the robes. And it took longer than a few moments to put on, especially if one was wearing a long robe and was very heavy in the belly.
What had happened was now clear.
Talal had been warned about a possible hit. He’d had someone, perhaps a double he routinely employed, take his place at the meeting. Maybe he thought the Russian and Palestinian would try to kill him. Maybe he suspected a traitor in his inner circle, or a sniper like Robie waiting to take his shot. He had outsmarted them all. He had had his double die in his place.
Robie thought back to the conversation he had overheard that night. It now took on a critical importance.
Something that everyone assumed was pointless to try.
The weakest link.
Willing to die.
That could only be one possible target.
The president of the United States.
Now the theft of the Secret Service SUV made sense. They had someone on the inside. They had George Van Beuren.
And the fact that they had let Elizabeth Van Beuren die told Robie that the time to make the attempt was right now.
And Talal’s billions had bought him people in this country to do his bidding.
Then he remembered something Annie Lambert had told him. When the president got back to D.C., there was going to be a big event at the White House.
He pulled out his phone, did a quick Internet search.
He got the results and raced out of the house.
Tonight the president would be entertaining the crown prince of Saudi Arabia.
Talal was multitasking tonight.
The son of a bitch was going for both men.
CHAPTER
92
Robie was halfway to D.C. when he finally reached Blue Man. In terse sentences he told him about his latest deductions.
Blue Man’s response was equally terse. He would meet Robie at the White House with backup. And he would alert the appropriate parties.
Twenty minutes later Robie slid his car to a stop at the curb, jumped out, and ran.
He was on Pennsylvania Avenue heading to the front gates of the White House. He looked at his watch. Nearly eleven. He imagined the party would be winding down by now. And if the attempt hadn’t occurred yet, it would have to shortly.
He spied Blue Man and a group of men huddled outside the White House front gates. Robie could see that it was a mixture of FBI, Secret Service, and DHS. He saw no uniformed Secret Service around. He assumed it had been determined that they couldn’t know how far the conspiracy had gone, so it was best to leave the uniforms out of this.
Robie ran up to them. “Do they know where Van Beuren is?” he asked.
Blue Man said, “He’s on duty. We’ve spoken to the Secret Service agents inside. They’re hunting for him now. The problem is, we don’t want to show that we’re suspicious of anything. Van Beuren may not be the only asset they have in there.”
One man in a suit stared over at Robie. He was about six-three with graying hair and a face that seemed to have a worry line for every national crisis he had endured. Robie recognized him as the director of the Secret Service. Robie recalled that the man’s father had been a veteran agent with Reagan when he had been shot. It was said that the current director had become an agent at the urging of his old man. And he had sworn that no president would ever die on his watch.
The director said, “You’re the one who called this in?”
