satchel charge blew up the backup limousine in vivid living color. Good God, that was a hell of a blast! He watched the ensuing carnage in dismay, gruesome even after being edited for home viewing.
And Diana had been caught in that?
Holy Mary, Mother of God. He picked up the phone. Instead of a dial tone, a female voice said immediately, “White House secure operator. May I help you?”
“This is Monihan. Any luck getting through to that phone number I gave you?”
“Not yet, sir. We’ve gotten through to the phone once and it rang, but there was no answer. As soon as the party you’re trying to contact picks up, we’ll forward it through to you.”
“Thanks.”
Dammit, where was Diana? Why wasn’t she answering her phone? What had happened to her? His gaze swiveled back to the screen. He stared at the bloodied and torn bodies of dozens of victims lying on the ground in various stages of triage and evacuation. He was about to be the President of the United States, for God’s sake, and he couldn’t find out what had happened to the courageous, feisty, funny woman who’d been willing to sacrifice her life for him?
He picked up the phone again.
“What can I do for you, Mr. President-elect?”
This operator was slick. He replied, “I need the names of the victims of the bombing. One name in particular. Who should I speak to?”
“At the moment, that would be the Chief of the Washington Metro Police Department. By this evening, the Director of FEMA-the Federal Emergency Management Administration, and the Director of the FBI should have that information.”
“Connect me to the Chief of Police.”
Without comment, the operator patched him through.
“What?” a voice snapped in his ear without preamble. The poor man sounded harassed beyond belief, and Gabe felt a twinge of guilt for bugging him. But he was really worried that Diana hadn’t answered her phone. If she’d indeed been the one to shout the warning to Owen, she’d saved his life. He owed her. Big-time.
“This is Gabe Monihan. I’m sorry to bother you, but do you have an initial casualty list yet?”
The police chief sputtered. “Uh, forgive me, sir. Didn’t mean to be rude, there.”
“You’re authorized under the circumstances. I’d be more worried if you weren’t short with me. How’s it looking?”
“The fire’s contained. Six dead and about sixty injured. Some minor, some severe. Probably gonna lose another couple more before it’s all said and done. Good thing your man tossed that bomb under an armored car or we’d be looking at a whole lot more casualties. We still have some injuries trickling in to area hospitals. No suspects yet. We’ve got imagery of the bastard-pardon me-the perpetrator. It’s at the FBI lab now getting digitally enhanced so we can make out a face and put out an APB. We’ll get him, sir.”
“I’m sure you will,” Gabe replied smoothly. “I had a friend at the parade and I have reason to believe she was very near the blast site. Could you check her name against the casualty lists for me?”
“Of course, sir.”
“Her name’s Diana Lockworth.”
There was a short pause. “Her name’s not on my list. Either she wasn’t hurt or she hasn’t been reported through the hospitals to us, yet.”
“But she’s not one of the known dead?” Gabe asked.
“No. We’ve got names on all of them. Next of kin are about to be notified.”
Gabe sagged in his chair in relief. Thank God. “Let me know if there’s anything you need from me.”
The police veteran grunted. “A small tactical nuclear strike up the ass of this SOB when we find him?”
Gabe chuckled. “You got it. Keep up the good work.”
He hung up the phone as frustrated as before. Where in the bloody hell was Diana?
3:00 P.M.
D iana stared at the tiny black bore of the pistol pointed at her. Hard to believe that nearly instantaneous death could come out of something so small.
And then behind her, she heard the sound of hooves clattering on the hard ice. The police officer. The horse was coming at a dead run judging by the rapid, staccato sound of it. Albadian’s head jerked up.
Now!
She took two running steps and dived for the gun. Both her hands wrapped around the guy’s forearm and shoved upward with all her might. The force of her body slamming into his knocked Albadian’s feet out from under him on the icy street and he crashed to the ground. She collapsed on top of him, maintaining her death grip on his wrist. At all costs, she must not let go!
Four black, equine legs scrambled to a stop beside her, and she shouted in warning, “Gun!”
A male voice behind her bellowed in response, “Freeze!”
With all due respect, she wasn’t going to let go of Albadian’s wrist until that gun was completely out of his hands. The terrorist continued to struggle beneath her and she hung on grimly. He tossed her back and forth, shaking his arm furiously to dislodge her.
Something heavy landed on top of her, pancaking her against Albadian. Another pair of hands came up beside hers, grasping Albadian’s wrist powerfully.
The cop shouted, “Drop the gun! Now!”
Although the command didn’t seem to impress Albadian, the arrival of two more cops on horseback and the sound of sirens drawing near finally took the starch out of him. He went limp beneath her. Neither she nor the cop on top of her moved, however, until several more policemen came running up, weapons propped in their fists in front of them.
Someone stepped up and plucked the gun out of Albadian’s hand. The first cop rolled off her, and she followed suit, rolling onto her back, breathing hard. Lord, that had been a close call.
She looked up and blinked as a pair of pistols pointed at her this time.
“Hands over your head, lady,” a policeman ordered.
She complied promptly. “My name is Captain Diana Lockworth. I’m Army Intelligence, and that’s the guy who just threw the satchel charge at Gabriel Monihan. If one of you would like to reach into my left coat pocket, my wallet is in there with my military ID.”
One of the cops did as she suggested gingerly, then stepped back to open the wallet. He announced, “There’s a military ID in here. Defense Intelligence Agency building access card, concealed weapons permit.” He looked down at her sharply. “You packing?”
She snorted. “I wish. Do you think I’d have been wrestling around hand to hand with that jerk if I were?”
The cops grinned. One of them held a hand down to her and helped her to her feet. “Care to tell us how you know who this guy is?”
“I saw him lob the backpack at Monihan’s limousine. Speaking of which, is Gabe-I mean President-elect Monihan-okay? Did he get away safely?”
One of the policemen replied, “Nobody knows a damn thing. His limo drove away from the scene so it wasn’t hit too bad, and there’ve been no calls to the cops for an escort to any hospitals. He’s probably fine.”
She closed her eyes. She’d done it. Gabe was still alive.
A cop interrupted her profound relief. “And how did you end up chasing this guy?”
“He had a moped. I grabbed another moped one of his accomplices abandoned at the scene and took off after him. But we were on identical machines and I couldn’t make up the gap between us. When he hit the ice and had to slow down to almost walking speed, I remembered your precinct was ahead of us. I swung in to your parking lot and snagged a horse that could go full speed or close to it on the ice. By the way, I need to thank whomever I borrowed the horse from.”
One of the cops smiled. “Give him a few minutes. When he’s checked Red over and knows his horse is okay, he’ll be friendlier-especially after he finds out why you took his baby.”
