She held no purse.
Her hands were folded across her chest and rested inside her jacket.
Her hair was done up with a few strands trickling around her long neck.
She looked beautiful.
So this was the reason for the black dress and high heels Robie had seen through his scope. She had told Robie she would be working this event, but he had somehow failed to make the connection.
He promised himself that whatever happened he would save her from harm. She would not die tonight.
Her lips were set in a firm line. She obviously recognized Robie. But she did not smile. She was probably scared, he thought. For a terrible second he wondered if she would raise the alarm about him. To her Robie was an investment banker. Why would he be here dressed as a waiter? Maybe she would think he was here to kill the president. He wondered how to signal to her, but he could think of no way to do so. He just had to hope she would not panic from seeing him.
Yet there was a calmness about her that Robie found enviable under the circumstances. His respect for her grew even more. Her eyes were wide and seemed to take in every bit of him in one glance.
Then he saw that her pupils were also dilated. And then she smiled at him in a way she never had before. And in that moment Robie saw a side of Annie Lambert he had never suspected even existed.
There was a split second where Robie’s mind shut down, as though he’d been struck by lightning. Then his brain immediately fired back up.
He shouted, “Shooter!” He drew his gun.
But with astonishing speed Annie Lambert pulled the gun from where it had been hidden in a compartment in her jacket, aimed, and fired, seemingly all in one smooth motion.
The president was only a few feet away. Her shot hit him in the arm instead of the chest. An agent had grabbed him when Robie had shouted. If the president hadn’t moved his heart would have been pierced by the round instead of his limb.
She started to point her gun at the prince. She never made it.
Robie’s shot hit Lambert directly in the head and blew out the back, the slug embedding in the wall behind her along with some of the woman’s brain and skull. The yellow paint turned red.
She fell backward, hit the table, and slid to the floor.
The Secret Service removed the president from the room so fast his blood barely had time to touch the floor.
Robie heard screams, sensed people rushing in and out. But he simply stood there, his gun pointed down.
All he could do was stare silently at Annie Lambert’s body.
CHAPTER
95
Robie was in a room at the White House. He didn’t know which room and he didn’t care. He had been led to it by others and told to wait there.
He sat in a chair and stared at the floor. The light overhead was dim. He heard noises from outside somewhere. People were talking in the halls. Occasionally the sound of a siren reached him.
None of it made an impression on him.
He only saw Annie Lambert’s face. Her eyes, really. The pupils big and pulpy, seemingly too large to be contained in such limited space.
He saw the round from his Glock hit her head, explode her brain, and end her life.
He saw this a hundred times. He could not make his mind turn the image off. It kept playing like a video reel. Part of him wanted to place his gun against his temple and make it stop for good.
But they had taken his gun from him and so this was not an option.
Right now that was probably a good thing, he thought. Right now Robie was not sure he wanted to live. He could no longer make sense of anything.
The door opened and Robie looked up.
“Agent Robie?”
He saw the director of the Secret Service. Behind him was Blue Man.
“Yeah?” said Robie.
“The president would like to personally thank you.”
“How is he?”
“Fine. Hospital released him. Thank God the bullet went clean through his arm. More blood than damage. He’ll be fine in no time.”
“That’s good,” said Robie. “But there’s no need to thank me. Just doing my job. You can tell him that for me.” He looked down at the floor once more.
“Robie,” said Blue Man, stepping forward. “It’s the president. He’s in the Oval Office. He’s expecting you.”
Robie glanced up at the man. Always neat as a pin. Twelve in the afternoon or twelve at night, didn’t matter.
Blue Man had a confused look on his face. While he had known that Annie Lambert lived in Robie’s apartment building, Robie also knew that Blue Man was not aware of their relationship. And he did not feel like enlightening him.
Robie said, “Okay. Let’s go.”
The trip to the Oval Office took a few minutes and involved their walking outside and past the Rose Garden. Before Teddy Roosevelt had had the West Wing created a series of glass conservatories had occupied the spot. As they trudged along, Robie recalled that Roosevelt had been shot while campaigning for president. The only thing that had saved his life was the thickness of the speech that had been folded up in his pocket. The bullet had hit this mass of paper and it had robbed enough of the round’s kinetic energy that Roosevelt had been able to give his speech, albeit while bleeding heavily from the wound in his chest. He had only consented to be taken to the hospital after his speech was done.
They didn’t make presidents like that anymore, thought Robie.
And so Roosevelt had lived. And so had the current president.
He had lived because of a bit of skill on Robie’s part.
And a lot of luck.
Just like the rolled-up speech.
The president sat behind his desk, his left arm sat stiffly in a sling. He rose when he saw Robie. He had changed clothes. Gone was the tux, replaced by a white dress shirt and black slacks. He looked shaken still, but there was firm resolve in his grip as he shook hands with Robie.
“You saved my life tonight, Agent Robie. I wanted to thank you personally for that.”
“I’m just glad you’re okay, Mr. President.”
“I can’t believe that one of my staff was involved. Ms. Lambert, I believe. They tell me there was nothing in her background that would have hinted at this.”
“I’m sure it was a surprise to everyone,” replied Robie dumbly.
Especially me.
“How did you recognize so quickly that it was her?”
“She had taken a drug, to calm her nerves. Suicide bombers often do this before they detonate. Her pupils were dilated from the drug’s action in her body.”
“She was drugged, but could still shoot straight?”
“There are chemicals that relax the nerves, sir, without dulling the other senses. And it actually makes you a better shot. Nerves kill the aim faster than anything. And I would assume that even the most gifted assassin would have been nervous tonight.”
