'The Vipe—the Vice President—won't appreciate that, sir. We're always to knock first.'
'Open that door,' ordered Evan, his rasping voice a whisper, his eyes wide, fixed briefly on the Secret Service man. 'I'll take full responsibility.'
'Sure, sure. If anyone's entitled I guess you are.'
The heavy door on the right swung silently back, the words hissed by a tight-throated Bollinger clearly heard. 'What you're saying is preposterous, insane!… Yes, what is it?'
Kendrick walked through the terrible space and stared at the shocked, panic-stricken face of 'Dr. Eugene Lyons'.
'You!' screamed Evan, the isolated world inside his head going mad as he lunged, racing across the room, his two hands the claws of a maniacal animal intent only on the kill—the kill! 'He's going to die because of you—because of all of you!'
In a blur of violence, arms gripped him; hands chopped into his head, and knees crashed up into his groin and his stomach, his eyes bruised by experienced fingers. Despite the agonizing pain, he heard the muted screams—one after another.
'I've got him! He's not going to move.'
'Close the door!'
'Get me my bag!'
'Keep everyone out!'
'Oh, Jesus, he knows everything!'
'What do we do?
'… I know people who can handle this.'
'Who the hell are you?
'Someone who should introduce himself… Viper.'
I've heard that name. It's an insult! Who are you?'
'For the moment I'm in charge, that's who I am.'
'Oh, Christ…!'
Darkness—the oblivion that comes with the deepest shock. All was black; nothing.
The Icarus Agenda
Chapter 40
He felt the wind and the spray first, then the motion of the sea, and finally the wide cloth straps that constricted him, binding him to the metal chair bolted into the deck of the pitching boat. He opened his eyes in the moving darkness; he was in the stern, the foaming wake receding in front of him, and was suddenly aware of cabin lights behind. He turned, craning his neck to see, to understand. Abruptly, he was face to face with the dark-haired, swarthy Secret Service guard whose mother in New York thought he should be Pope… and whose voice he had heard proclaiming himself to be in charge. The man sat in an adjacent deep sea fighting chair, a single strap across his waist.
'Waking up, Congressman?' he asked politely.
'What the hell have you done?' roared Kendrick, struggling against the restricting straps.
'Sorry about those, but we didn't want you falling over the side. The water's a little rough; we were just protecting you while you got some air.'
'“Protecting…?” Goddamn you, you bastards drugged me and carried me out of there against my will! You've kidnapped me! My office knows where I went tonight… you're going to draw twenty years for this, all of you! And that son of a bitch Bollinger will be impeached and spend—’
'Hold it, hold it,' broke in the man, raising his hands, calmly protesting. 'You've got it all wrong, Congressman. Nobody drugged you, you were sedated. You went crazy back there. You attacked a guest of the Vice President; you might have
