A Heartbeat Away

the Secretary of Homeland Security would get the hint that there was work to be done below ground.

Four people—three men and a woman—sat waiting at a long foldout table in the center of the room. Griff figured the two men and a woman standing nearby were Rappaport’s assigned Secret Service agents. Husky Sergeant Stafford and three of his team brought the total number present to a baker’s dozen—just above capacity for the space.

A thin man with graying temples, sharply dressed in a tailored suit, rose from his seat at the table. Griff, hardly a newshound, had never seen photos of any of the Cabinet. He assumed the man, who moved like an athlete and looked patrician bred, was Paul Rappaport. The former governor’s bearing and sharply defined features had Griff trying to recall the exact words to Creedence Clearwater Revival’s song “Fortunate Son.”

“Griffin Rhodes,” Griff said. “My associate, Melvin Forbush.”

Griff took a step forward to shake hands. Two of the agents intervened, blocking his path.

“We’ve got to search you first, sir,” the woman said.

Groaning inwardly, Griff dropped his parka to the floor, and lifted his arms for a pat-down. A second agent swept him with a handheld metal detector. Melvin, who had a dreamy expression that Griff took to mean he was imagining himself in any number of movie pat-down scenes, was subjected to the same treatment.

“All clear,” one agent said to Rappaport.

The secretary then met them in the middle of the room. Griff extended his hand. Rappaport took it for a moment. Griff could see mistrust in the man’s gray eyes.

“I’m not the bad guy here,” Griff said in a near whisper.

“I know what you believe, but I also know your history,” Rappaport said.

“So you know that I was framed.”

The secretary did not smile.

“I know that you were arrested for stealing the virus,” he said. “And I know that you’re the man President Allaire has tasked with saving our government. Makes me think of the fox guarding the henhouse.”

Griff’s expression was one of extreme displeasure. Angie’s heroism and current plight continued to dominate his thoughts, along with his impending escape from the lab to Wichita. In addition, Griff had Sylvia Chen’s human experimentation and his own continued failures with Orion adding to his emotional cocktail. His ability to control his simmering anger was hanging by the strand of a spider’s web.

“Mr. Secretary, what is it you want from me?” he said. “Did you just fly a thousand miles to put me in my place?”

Rappaport’s grin held no mirth.

“Well, what I want, Dr. Rhodes, is to make absolutely certain you are doing what you have promised to do. I am ready to become president if I must, but I’d prefer it not come to that.”

“Pardon my saying so, Mr. Secretary, but to my sense, at least, that statement isn’t exactly oozing sincerity.”

“That’s your interpretation, Rhodes. As secretary of Homeland Security, it’s my sworn duty to protect the president and this country. If that includes monitoring you and your work here, and it does, then that is just what I shall do. If my sworn duty involves taking over for President Allaire, then that is what I will do. But at the moment, all I care about is seeing to it that you do everything in your power to save those poor unfortunates in the Capitol. In that regard, I want to know exactly what you are doing down there in that little hole of yours. Because, let us be honest with each other—”

“Yes, let’s.”

“I don’t trust you.”

“So, I’ve gathered.”

“I have brought with me some folks who will make absolutely certain I can keep a very close eye on you and your activities.”

Rappaport turned and motioned to one of the men seated at the conference table behind them. The man stood slightly taller than Rappaport, and appeared equally as fit. He wore a blue blazer over an oxford shirt. The jacket had a ten-point buck emblazoned on the pocket. Unlike Rappaport, he was interested in shaking Griff’s hand.

“I’m Roger Corum,” he said, “CEO of Staghorn Security Technologies.”

Forbush’s expression suddenly became that of a child viewing a fireworks display.

“Wow! That’s so great,” he said, with his typical enthusiasm, as he gave Corum’s hand a prolonged, vigorous pumping. “I’ve been wanting to get in touch with you guys about some security tape I have from the system you upgraded a couple of years ago. Talk about a lucky break!”

Rappaport interrupted before Corum could reply. Clearly, the secretary had no interest in communicating with Griff’s associate.

“I asked Roger to accompany me here as a personal favor. I will allow him to explain our intentions.”

“Why don’t we all sit first,” Corum said, his speech gently Southern, and his manner much more agreeable than Rappaport’s.

“If it’s okay with you, I prefer to stand,” Griff said. “Because if we’re standing, this meeting will be shorter. And every second we’re not working is another second we’re not working.”

“Understood,” Corum said. “Secretary Rappaport is interested in monitoring the activities down below in real time. Since it is impractical for him to be physically present there, he has asked that Staghorn install state-of-the- art communications equipment to allow him, and through him, the president, to remain in constant voice and video contact with your team.”

“By my team you mean Mr. Forbush and myself. Because that’s all we have.”

Corum smiled genuinely at the image.

“I’ve worked with teams of a hundred that are probably not as effective or efficient as the two of you,” he said. “Dr. Rhodes, what we’ll do is replace some of our existing cameras and equipment with newer models that allow for encrypted, wireless streaming over a secure satellite network. That way we can broadcast your activity to any location on earth.”

“You won’t get a signal that far below ground,” Forbush said.

“True as things stand,” Corum replied. “Presently, the cameras are hardwired to the hub in the communications building here at the facility. We’ll replace that hub with our newer model as well. With the cameras connected to the new hub we’ll be able to transmit signal from the building to our satellite network. Which brings me to our next effort, videoconferencing.”

“We have that already,” Griff said.

“But you don’t have mobile conferencing.” Corum took out a device from his blazer pocket that was no bigger than a cell phone. “This is the TX-Mobile Communicator. We developed it for Uncle Sam. It’s a handheld, private networked videoconferencing system. Inside the casing is a stand-alone sophisticated GPS tracker, built into a disc that’s not much bigger than a silver dollar. It will allow us to pinpoint your exact location, even underground.”

“You want us to carry that gadget around like some sort of parolee ankle bracelet?”

Griff’s disgust was evident. Rappaport stepped forward.

“I expect you to do what you are told, Rhodes,” he said.

“Well, perhaps you’ve forgotten, Mr. Secretary, but what I’ve been told to do is save this country, not answer to you.”

“Don’t get so high on yourself,” Rappaport replied. “This country will continue on no matter the outcome of what you do. In a worst-case scenario, it will be incumbent on me to form an interim government. And I promise you, we’ll emerge from those ashes stronger and more resolved to combat terror than ever before.”

“By that do you mean all the personal freedoms you’re going to revoke?” Forbush blurted out. Griff shot his friend a stunned but simultaneously appreciative look. “I’ve read up on your policy positions,” Forbush then went on. “The walls and moats between the U.S. and Mexico. The wiretapping. The computer monitoring. The cameras. The profiling. The—”

“That is sheer nonsense,” Rappaport said, speaking at least as much to the others in the room as to Forbush. “I am not going to take away any freedoms granted by our Constitution. I am committed to protecting this country and the American way of life. And if doing so requires stronger security at the borders, more use of surveillance technology, photo ID cards, profiling, and an expansion of the Patriot Act in any way necessary to combat terrorists