Traitor (2 page)

Brigadier General Harold F. McLennan watched the horror at the White House unfold on the 24/7 news channels. With each passing minute, another of his senior staff joined him as the news of the attack on their President and the world’s most prestigious address filtered through. They were all desperate to know how their Commander and Chief was doing and whether any of their departments could assist in any way.

Between them, they controlled and developed the most advanced medical research and procedures in the world for battlefield injuries, diseases and biological weapons. If there were any people in the world who could help in that situation, the professionals crowding General McLennan’s office were amongst the very few who could. The General had made a call to Walter Reed Hospital the moment he had heard the President had been shot. His people were ready to help in any way they could. The offer was noted and much to McLennan’s concern and frustration, they did not update or offer any details of the President’s condition.

His answer, therefore, remained the same to each of his concerned subordinates. Walter Reed would call if they needed them. In the meantime, all they could do was hope and pray for the President and all the other casualties.

An audible gasp silenced his office when the first aerial shots of the White House were broadcast across the world. The West Wing, the executive branch of the federal government, lay in ruins. The main body of the house remained undamaged but it was a very different silhouette that would be adorning the Washington skyline for some time to come.

The new skyline faded out, replaced by a somber-faced White House spokesman in front of a hastily prepared podium on the East side of the White House, out of view of the rubble and debris that littered the previously pristine White House lawns.

General McLennan hit the volume button on his remote and bathed the office in the background sounds of emergency sirens a few hundred miles away.

“Ladies and Gentlemen,” began the spokesman, “I will be brief. At approximately 9:55 this morning, a gunman shot and injured the President. The President is responding well to treatment and is expected to make a full recovery.” The spokesman paused as the relief was absorbed by reporters and audiences at home. “To aid his escape, the gunman triggered an explosive device that has damaged the West Wing of—”

The office door burst open and grabbed everyone’s attention away from the TV screen. A breathless and panting Colonel Valerie Barnes, a sight that, without the dramatic entrance, would have got their attention anyway, stood almost unable to speak.

“General,” she gasped, between attempts to re-oxygenate her lungs.

General McLennan was already up and helping her into a seat before she collapsed.

“Val?” he asked, concern deep in voice.

“W-we’ve got a Level 4 b-breach!” she stammered.

Level 4 was the highest biosafety hazard category involving highly infectious diseases with high fatality rates and no known cures; it was not an area in which you ever wanted to suffer a breach. A number of her colleagues in the room openly moved away from her.

“Not a leak, a
theft
!” she said, making it clear she thought this situation far worse. She could control a leak.

“Impossible,” replied the General, calmly. “This facility is as secure as Fort Knox and anyway, security would have alerted me by now.”

“I’ve only just discovered it!” she said, tears welling in her eyes. The implications of her failure were catastrophic.

“I’m sorry to say that so far we have been unable to locate the Vice President.” The voice of the spokesperson cut through the chaos in the room, as the enormity of the announcement caught their ears.

“What did he just say?” asked the General, turning back to the TV.

“It looks as though the Vice President was in the West Wing when the explosion was triggered,” explained one of his subordinates.

“Sorry, what explosion?” asked Val.

“The President has been shot and the gunman blew up the West Wing as part of his getaway,” replied the General succinctly.

“Oh my God! Is he okay?’

“It appears so. Now, what is it you think is missing?”

“I don’t
think
anything is missing,” she replied angrily. “I
know
that fifty doses of
Zaire Ebolavirus
have been stolen!”

“You must be mistaken,” argued the General, shaking his head. However, his demeanor changed.

“What’s the big deal?” asked one of the few non-medical members of the team.

“You know the movie
Outbreak
?” replied Val. On receiving an affirmative nod, she continued, “
Zaire Elboavrius
is like the disease they faced but much worse and with no magic serum to cure it!”

“Oh shit!”

The TV was issuing an alert in the background and caught Val’s attention:
“We ask all citizens across the city and beyond to look out for this man. Please do not approach him. He is armed and extremely dangerous. If you do see him, call 911, lock all doors and windows and wait for the emergency services to attend. His name is Nick Geller…”

Nick Geller’s photo appeared on the screen.

“Holy fuck!” said Val. Her heart almost stopped as the image burned into her retinas.

“What?” asked the General, turning to the screen and seeing Geller’s face.

“He was here yesterday!” Val managed to say. “Oh fuck! What has he done?!”

The General ran to his desk and picked up the phone. “Get me the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs now!!” he commanded. “Whatever he’s doing, get him on the phone now!!”

While he waited to be put through, he turned to Val. “Get to DC immediately. I want the White House and Walter Reed Hospital quarantined. Nobody gets out of either building until we have an all-clear and I mean nobody!”

“Yes, Madam Speaker,” replied Frankie.

“The President wants you in on the investigation,” she said gruffly before barging into the Operations Center. “The President is alive and will recover,” she announced loudly, walking to the seat at the top of the table. The Speaker was on the opposite side of the political divide from President Mitchell and she made sure he knew it.

A cheer echoed throughout the room but was quickly stifled as the Speaker continued. “I’m afraid that’s the only good news. The Vice President is believed to have been in the West Wing. From the initial reports of the damage, it is unlikely that he has survived. The President is currently incapacitated and as such I will take office while he recovers.”

A more somber audience watched the Chief Justice step forward and swear in the Speaker of the House as the Commander and Chief of the United States for the first time in its history. Maria Lopez became the first Speaker, female and Hispanic, to ascend to the highest office in the land.

“Madame President,” concluded the Chief Justice before leaving the Operations Center.

“Miss Franks?”

Frankie stepped forward from the doorway and into full view of the table of attendees when President Lopez said her name.

“As I said, the President—sorry, President
Mitchell
,” she corrected, “wants you to be fully involved in the investigation. As such, you will be the Secret Service’s representative on the task force. Please take a seat.”

A few grumbles echoed around the table, none of which President Lopez made any attempt to stop, making it abundantly clear that she herself disagreed with Frankie’s involvement. Bill, however, smiled warmly and gladly gave up his seat for her before leaving to resume his normal duties.

“So what do we know?” asked President Lopez.

To her right, the Deputy Director of the FBI, Paul Turner, stood up. A headshot of Nick Geller was displayed on the bank of screens that surrounded the room.

“This man,” he said, looking directly at Frankie, “Nick Geller, while receiving the National Intelligence Cross for services to the country, suddenly and without warning, produced a weapon, shot the President, and fled via the Truman balcony to the grounds below. From there, he made his escape under cover of a massive explosion that has all but demolished the West Wing of the White House.”

Hearing it out loud for the first time still did not make Frankie believe it was true. There had to be a catastrophic mistake.

“Run VT,” said Turner.

Any lingering suspicions of Nick’s innocence were instantly quashed. The video feed from the presentation of Nick’s medal played out before them. President Mitchell, smiling warmly, walked towards Nick, the medal in his hands ready to be placed over Nick’s head. Bill stood off to the side, relaxed in the presence of the President and a man who had proved to be beyond reproach. He was a man who had risked everything for his country. He was a hero.

Frankie gasped when Nick dropped his hand and in a flash produced a small pistol-like object. He fired it once directly at the President, who fell immediately to the floor. Nick dropped the pistol and ran for the balcony door. Bill rushed forward to assist the President, simultaneously drawing his gun. He managed one shot towards Nick as he desperately tried to stem the flow of blood from the President’s wound. Frankie rushed through the door, her gun drawn and was directed onto the balcony. That was the last scene before the screen went blank.

It was also the first time Frankie realized that the shot she had reacted to had not been Nick’s but Bill’s. Whatever weapon Nick had used had not only been undetectable to the scanners but it was silenced. It also put an end to any doubt about Nick’s guilt.

“Tell me more about this Geller guy,” prompted President Lopez.

“Up until 9:55 a.m., Madame President, I would have said he was the all American hero. A former Ranger and Delta Force soldier, he moved into the DIA’s Defense Clandestine Services where he’s been for a number of years as a specialist in the war on terror. Most recently he infiltrated and assassinated the recently appointed head of Al Qaeda.”

The murmurs around the table started as this revelation came to light. Geller’s assassination of the Al Qaeda leader had been a closely guarded secret and the reason for Geller’s private presentation ceremony by the President of the highest award to an intelligence officer: the National Intelligence Cross. Nick Geller had been about to join the ranks of very, very few elite. Along with his previous Medal of Honor, the National Intelligence Cross would have elevated him to the equivalent of a double Medal of Honor winner.

The President motioned for quiet, shaking her head in bemusement. “Do we have any idea how on earth…” she began but struggled to find the words to convey how bizarre the situation really was.

A few heads turned questioningly to Frankie, who didn’t look up, not wanting to engage with anyone on the inner mind of a man who up until a couple of hours ago she would have sworn she knew inside and out.

Before anyone could offer an opinion, the door swept open to reveal another entourage of suits. The Director of National Intelligence led the group and held up a DVD as though it were his invitation to crash the party.

“Madame Speaker,” he interrupted, before noting the very subtle but deliberate shake of Deputy Director Turner’s head. “My apologies, Madame
President
,” he corrected, “I think you will want to see this and I’m sure it will answer a few questions for you.” He handed the DVD to an aide on her left.

While the room waited for the DVD to be cued up, all eyes were on the TV screens displaying news broadcasts from the grounds of the White House. Buried deep in the ground, out of reach of every conceivable manmade weapon, there was no safer place for them to be.

“Don’t press play!” commanded the President. The sound in her voice conveyed the fear that all in the room shared.

Before she could say any more, the red phone in front of her began to ring. A direct link to the Pentagon and the military sat at her fingertips. She looked at the TV screen showing hermetically-sealed biohazard-suited soldiers surrounding the White House perimeter.

Frankie watched in horror as the newly pronounced and acting President of the United States listened, failing to hide her terror at whatever was being conveyed to her by the military chiefs. She slowly replaced the receiver and turned from the screens to her captive audience.

“Well, things just got a whole lot worse,” she said nervously. “It appears that we may all have been exposed to a highly contagious and deadly virus. It seems Mr Geller may not have failed to kill the President after all.”

Frankie began to shake; it was too much. Nick loved her, he hadn’t been faking it,
couldn’t
have been, but he knew she would be there. If he had exposed the White House to a deadly disease, he had inevitably exposed her too.

The President looked directly at Frankie. “Miss Franks?” she asked coldly.

Frankie shook her head, she had to pull herself together. “I don’t know…I feel fine, Madame President,” she said.

“That’s yet to be proved,” said the President. “They want to check you first, you’re potentially patient zero. Mr Geller may have used you as the delivery method.” The President paused, watching Frankie break down into floods of tears, before adding with little feeling. “Unwittingly, of course.”