bay for the moment, notched up a little higher.
She was a screwup. Always had been. Her teachers always moaned about how she was wasting her potential. What they didn’t know was that her “potential” was a lie. She was not smart, competent Josie, who could fling a supersonic jet through the sky with perfect precision, who handled every crisis in her life exactly correctly, who never screwed up when the chips were down. She was the afterthought little sister. The tagalong who basked in the reflected glow from her illustrious sister but never shone on her own. And man, was she about to blow it big- time.
She jumped when her cell phone rang in her purse, emitting an electronic version of the George Thurgood classic, “Bad to the Bone.” She dug it out and looked at the caller ID. “Private Call,” it announced. She clicked it on and put it to her ear. “Hello?” she said cautiously.
“Hi, Diana. It’s me.” She about dropped the phone as the dulcet tones of Gabe Monihan’s voice caressed her ear.
“How’s it going?”
She forgot to breathe. “Uh, i-it’s going,” she stammered. “I’ve stirred up a real hornet’s nest if that counts for anything.”
“Where are you?” he asked.
“I’m in front of the National Gallery of Art along your parade route. I think this is where the Q-group will try to hit you.”
“Lovely,” he commented lightly. His truncated comments struck her as odd. As if maybe he couldn’t talk in the company he was in.
“Can’t talk much right now?” she asked.
“Exactly,” he said pleasantly.
“Got it. Fine, you just listen and I’ll do all the talking. I think I’ve uncovered the identities of the men who comprise a Q-group cell. They look to have been based out of New Jersey for the last year or so. I think they’re the ones planning to kill you today.” She paused in her recitation. “Lord, I hate even hearing those words said aloud.”
“Ditto,” he agreed.
“At any rate,” she rushed on, “I got detained by Army Intelligence for stalking you…isn’t that a laugh…but my grandfather sprang me. His driver tried to kidnap me, but I got away.”
“Your grandfather?” Gabe asked incredulously.
“Long story. I’ll tell you about it later. The thing is, I tried to get a copy of the pictures of the guys I’ve identified as the Q-group cell to Owen Haas. I doubt he received them, however. I expect it’s too late to get them to him now, since I’d guess you’re getting ready to move.”
“I’m in the car now,” Gabe replied.
“Are you sure I can’t talk you into telling anyone that these turkeys are going to try to hit you again?”
“I’ll be happy to do it after I take the oath. But not until then.”
She huffed in frustration. “I was afraid you’d say that. If you get a moment alone, tell Owen to keep an eye out for six to eight men of Berzhaani descent. They all look to be around thirty years old or so. Middle height, medium builds. It’s not much for him to go on, I know. But they’re out here, somewhere. I can feel it in my gut.”
“Me, too.”
Now that she thought about it, he did sound tighter than a high-tension wire. But she only knew that because she’d heard him this morning when he was relaxed and open by comparison. The guy hid his stress well. Heck, he had good cause to be stressed out, even if there weren’t a bunch of guys hanging around trying to kill him. He was about to take on one of the toughest jobs on the planet.
“How are you holding up?” she asked.
“Okay. I’m not crazy about giving big speeches, truth be told.”
“And you’re a politician?” Surprise made her voice higher than usual.
“I never was much for campaigning. I enjoy the work, but I’m not fond of what goes into getting the job in the first place.”
“Not much for kissing babies?” she asked sympathetically.
“Actually, I like that part,” he replied. “The worst part of it is having to shake hundreds upon hundreds of hands when every last person in the crowd wants to impress you with their firm grip. My hand gets so sore I can go days at a time unable to pick up a pen.”
“Wow. And you had to feed and shave yourself, too.” She added, “You can’t imagine the visual image I’m getting right now of Owen Haas feeding you cereal while shaving you.”
Gabe’s rich laugh filled her ear. “Thanks. I needed that.”
She asked, “So aren’t you supposed to be doing something important and Presidential right about now?”
“Nah, Justice Browning will tell me what to say. I just repeat after him, and voila, I’m President.”
“How about your speech? Are you going to get through it okay?”
“I’ve got the whole thing memorized. Besides, all I have to do is read it off a teleprompter.”
“Here’s a tip for you from my high school speech teacher. Wave your arms around a bit and pound your fist on the podium a couple of times. It’ll make you look passionate and will stir up a bunch of patriotic zeal in everyone’s chests. Then they won’t care so much what you actually say.”
He sounded genuinely amused. “Wave my arms and pound the podium, huh? I think I can handle that. Any advice for me on running the country?”
“Don’t get me started,” she warned laughingly.
“Are you busy tonight?” he asked, shifting topic abruptly.
“Not particularly. Why?”
“Are you going to be at any of the inaugural balls?”
She blinked in surprise. “I’ve got a ticket to the military ball, but I hadn’t decided if I was going to go or not.”
“I’ll save a dance for you if you’ll come,” he said winningly. As if he thought she might actually say no. Yeah, right. Not.
She stammered, “Uh…okay. In that case, I guess I’ll be there.”
“It’s a date,” he said lightly. The man actually sounded relieved. As if she’d turn down a gorgeous, smart, funny guy like him? Let alone the fact that he was going to be President of the United States. What was he smoking?
“Well, I suppose I’d better keep you alive if I want my dance, then, shouldn’t I?”
He laughed aloud. “I’ll let you go. Wouldn’t want to stop you from doing that. Give me a call if there are any new developments.”
“Okay,” she answered.
“Promise?” he asked.
“I promise,” she replied firmly.
“Thanks, Diana.”
“You’re welcome, Gabe.”
She disconnected the phone. And then stared at it. Whoops. She’d just committed a huge breach of protocol. She’d called the President-elect of the United States by his first name.
The reality of the crowded street pressed in around her. Face upon face. But no sign of her quarry. Looking for the Q-group cell out here was hopeless. She simply couldn’t do it alone. Who could she call in to help who wouldn’t arrest her or just take her for a complete kook? There had to be someone.
And then it hit her. Kim Valenti. Her old classmate from Athena Academy, an NSA agent stationed here in the Washington area, had been the woman who’d exposed the Q-group plot in Chicago and caught the suicide bomber at the airport, defusing the bomb with help from an FBI bomb squad member. She’d lay odds Kim was working the inauguration in some capacity today. She might even be in the immediate vicinity.
Diana opened her cell phone again and thumbed through its stored list of phone numbers to Kim’s cell phone number. She dialed it and waited impatiently for it to connect.
“Kim Valenti,” a voice answered professionally at the other end of the line.
“Kim. Diana Lockworth, here.”
“Diana! Long time no hear. How are you doing?”
“I’ve been better. Look, this is kind of an official call. Do you happen to be in D.C. right now?”
