Gabe grabbed the metal pole beside him as the train lurched, slowing down abruptly. It stopped and the doors slid open. A tiny platform, only big enough to hold maybe a half-dozen people stood before the opening. Another stainless steel door gleamed dully at the back of the cement platform.
Haas stepped forward and keyed in a code on a number pad beside the door.
The other Secret Service agents stepped aside to allow him to proceed. They were finally starting to relax a bit around the gills. He stepped forward and followed Haas into a room that could practically be a carbon copy of the Situation Room at the White House. Television screens lined the walls, and a dozen clocks announced the time in different capitals around the world. A large conference table dominated the center of the room, and telephones ranged all around its highly polished surface.
Haas walked around the table to the far end of the compact briefing room and stopped beside a closed door. “There are quarters this way if you’d like to clean up or rest a little.”
He probably looked like hell. But he didn’t give a damn at the moment. “Can I make a phone call now?” he asked Owen.
“To whom?”
“Diana Lockworth. The woman who had breakfast with me this morning. She was at the parade and I want to make sure she’s all right.”
Haas spoke a little less emotionlessly than usual. “I think she may have been the one who shouted the warning to me that the bomb was incoming.”
That wouldn’t surprise Gabe. She’d struck him as highly intelligent and highly competent. It would be like her to have found the Q-group cell in that crowd of tens of thousands. But it also confirmed his worst fear. She’d been at ground zero when that bomb went off, and without the benefit of an armored car to protect her. He swore violently under his breath.
Haas’s eyebrows shot up at his rare outburst. “You’ll have to use a land line, sir. We’re too deep for a cell phone to work.” Haas stepped to the table and picked up one of the phones. He spoke quietly into it and then handed the receiver to Gabe. “The White House operator is standing by to connect you if you’ll give her the number.”
Gabe took the receiver Haas offered him, but paused when the big man spoke again.
The agent pitched his voice in a low murmur for Gabe’s ears alone. “She knew something about that attack, didn’t she?”
Gabe nodded once in silence.
Haas murmured, “I’d like to talk to her when you’re done, sir. I want to know everything she can tell me about what happened up there.”
Gabe nodded again. He’d entrusted his life to this man, and the guy’d just saved it. If he couldn’t let Owen in on his secrets, who else could he trust? Gabe pulled out his cell phone and read Diana’s number off its display to the operator. He waited impatiently while the call went through.
In a moment she announced, “I’m sorry, sir. All the circuits are busy. I’ll keep trying until I get through and then I’ll ring you back.”
“Thank you.” It figured. Everyone and their uncle was calling relatives to make sure loved ones were okay.
The phone rang on the table and he picked it up eagerly. “Diana?”
A deep male voice replied, “Sorry. It’s James Whitlow. You all right, son?”
For once, the term “son” didn’t sound like an insult coming from his soon-to-be predecessor. Always before, President Whitlow’s incessant use of the term had set his teeth on edge.
Gabe answered the guy’s question. “I’m fine, Mr. President. How about you?”
“As well as can be expected in the circumstances. I’m going on television in a few minutes. You’ll be able to see it as soon as they’ve got the bomb shelter up and running.”
Gabe looked around in surprise. So that’s what this place was. This facility had been mentioned in one of the dozens of briefings he’d gotten over the last couple of months to bring him up to speed on the nation’s security apparatus. As he recalled, this bunker was pretty outrageously outfitted. He could run the country from down here. For a long time.
Gabe asked, “Do you want to contact the families of the dead with condolences, or shall I?”
“The FBI won’t have a complete casualty list for another several hours, and then notifications to the next of kin will have to be made. It’ll be tomorrow before the condolence calls can go out. Looks like you’re stuck with the job.”
Gabe winced. It certainly wasn’t a duty he was looking forward to, but it was appropriate that he make the calls. After all, it was him the attackers had been after when they killed the bystanders. At least Whitlow wasn’t going to try to usurp this one last Presidential duty.
The president interrupted his grim thoughts. “My press secretary wants me to tell the nation I’ve spoken with you on the phone and that you’re completely unharmed and in good spirits. Any messages I can pass along?”
“Tell them my prayers are with the people injured in the attack, and that I share your determination to apprehend whoever did this.”
“I will.” There was a brief pause while he spoke to somebody nearby. Whitlow came back on the line. “As for your inauguration. How do you feel about rescheduling it for early this evening in the rotunda of the Capitol Building? My Secret Service people say that building can be made secure, but it’s still big enough for the press to be there and holds enough guests so it doesn’t look like we’re running scared. My people think the inauguration needs to be televised live so there’s no doubt about the handoff of power having happened in a smooth and timely manner. Wouldn’t want any crazy rumors to get started about your presidency before you’re even in office.”
Right. As if there hadn’t been rumors swirling around him ever since the first Q-group attack, compliments of his erstwhile running mate, Thomas Wolfe. “That sounds fine. I’ll pass the suggestion on to my people and have them get back with your people. But I don’t anticipate any problems with it.”
Ah, the joys of changing administrations, particularly when there was a change of political party involved. It had been a tough campaign, and the outgoing president had been bitter throughout the transition phase.
Gabe asked, “Where will you be during the swearing in? I assume our security teams want us in separate locations?”
“I’ll stay here in the White House until you’re sworn in. And then the job’s all yours, son. This mess reminds me of why I’m glad to be retiring from politics.”
Gabe mentally snorted. Come tonight, Whitlow would have to be peeled out of the Oval Office with a crowbar, kicking and screaming the whole way. As it was, he had no doubt his predecessor was tickled pink to get an extra five hours on the job.
Gabe hung up the phone and turned to Owen Haas. “For lack of any of my other staff or advisors, I guess you get to be ‘my people.’”
Haas grinned, although it looked more like a crack in concrete than an actual facial expression.
Gabe continued. “Whitlow’s people want to hold my inauguration in the Capitol Rotunda at seven o’clock this evening. That okay with you?”
Haas shrugged. “Works for me. I’ll need to get a detail of men over there to start clearing the building ASAP.”
Gabe looked over at the other Secret Service agents huddled in a far corner of the room. “Would one of you guys call the White House and let them know the plans for tonight are a go?”
A burly blonde peeled away from the group and reached for a telephone. Haas gave a couple of short orders and several of the men sat down at other phones. Soon, they were in deep conversation with their people. Funny, but he didn’t have a blessed thing to do. He sat down at the end of the table and noticed a small slide-out tray under the table. He pulled it open. An elaborate TV remote controller sat there, along with various writing utensils and a pad of paper.
He pulled out the remote and pointed it at the wall of monitors. One of the televisions blinked on, startling Haas. Gabe grinned at the disgruntled agent. “Down, Tonto. I just want to see how the news networks are spinning the attack.”
Haas scowled and went back to his phone calls.
Gabe stared at the television screen as it replayed in slow-motion, full-color detail the last few moments prior to the attack. The voice-over and a digital arrow added by the network pointed out a blurry object sailing through the air, frame by painfully slow frame, toward his limousine. Hell of a move Owen made there. Gabe flinched as the
