Traitor (5 page)

Maria spoke for the next ten minutes, describing the aftermath of the attack, the lockdown of the White House and Walter Reed, the task force being formed and the actions put in place to ensure Nick Geller did not escape the country. She informed him of the countless calls from heads of state from across the world who had called to offer their support to the United States and condolences for the Vice President.

“It sounds as though you’ve been thrown in at the deep end,” said President Mitchell when Maria drew to a close.

“It’s why we enter politics, Mr. President,” she replied, giving a true politician’s answer.

“If it’s any consolation, I’m fairly certain we’re all clear on the Ebola front,” he offered.

“Have you had your results?”

“No, no just common sense. If he infected us, he would have been infected himself. Why go to the bother of blowing up the West Wing and escape if you’ve exposed yourself to a deadly disease?”

“That does make sense, Mr. President. But why is he doing this? Did he say anything before he shot you?”

“Just the usual Allahu Akbar stuff and then he pulled the trigger on a ridiculous looking little pistol. It was made out of some sort of plastic, probably made on a 3D printer. He walked straight through all our scanners without so much as a beep.”

“Thank God his aim was off,” she said wholeheartedly. She respected the office of the presidency above all else and would never wish ill of any president, no matter how much she disagreed with his politics.

“One sixteenth of an inch, that’s how close he was. One sixteenth of an inch to the right and I’d have been dead in seconds. I’m told it was an exceptional shot from the makeshift pistol. Its lack of power meant he had very few kill shots and he missed his by one sixteenth of an inch,” he said again, still coming to terms with how close he had been to dying.

“God was on the side of the good, Mr. President!”

“I hope he stays there. I think we have a storm coming and I pray he keeps us safe.”

“He will, Mr. President, he will. I’m sorry, sir, but you sound tired.”

“I’ve been tired since I took office two years ago.” He couldn’t help the subtle dig at how hard she had made his presidency. “I called to thank you and let you know that now I’m out of surgery and been given the all clear, I’m fine to take back the presidency.”

Maria didn’t need to be asked twice. She had future plans and taking the reins for even two hours was going to be a massive boost to her career when the time came.

“Of course, Mr. President,” she replied without missing a beat.

“Thank you, Madame Speaker,” replied President Mitchell and with those four words, he was back in charge of a country in crisis.

By the time she had replaced the handset, her Secret Service guard had halved. She was surprised it hadn’t entirely disappeared until she realized she was still just a heartbeat from the big ticket. Without a Vice President, she was next in line should the President’s health deteriorate.

Less than a minute later, the TV screen cut from the scene of biohazard-suited soldiers guarding the White House to the President of the United States. His left arm was pinned by a bandage across his chest and the Walter Reed logo was clearly visible above his head. The presidential seal was prominently displayed on the podium in front of him. His face was pained but his features and his stance were strong and resolute.

“Today, we suffered a great loss. A great American, a great man, a great friend has been slain by our enemies. Vice President Donald Brodie was killed during the attack on the White House. I’m sure you have all seen the images and you may be surprised to hear that, as far as we are aware, Vice President Brodie was the only fatal casualty in the explosion. Although his loss is devastating to the country and to me personally, I thank God that many more were not killed alongside him. As you can see, I have suffered a small wound to my shoulder. It is nothing more than that, a small wound and at no time was my life in any danger. I would like to thank Speaker Maria Lopez who took over the duties of President while I was incapacitated during a short operation. I am proud to say that our great country can now say that it has had a female President.”

A few smiles from the reporters assembled in front of the President suggested that the comment was taken in the lighthearted manner it was intended to be.

“As for the bio-hazard suits surrounding the White House, please do not be alarmed. That is merely a response that any terrorist attack on the White House will illicit. It is standard procedure and I assure you, it is nothing to be concerned about.”

Throughout all their disagreements and political fights, one thing had comforted Maria Lopez about President Mitchell - his honesty. Their views may have been very different but at least he was always honest about them, or so she thought. The blatant lie, so easily told and so convincingly delivered, had just altered her entire impression of him. If he wasn’t the man she thought he was, what else had he lied about? Before she had a chance to digest the information, the desk phone interrupted her.

“Yes,” she snapped.

“Madame Speaker, I’m pleased to say, we have the all clear, everybody has tested negative for the virus.” The caller ended the call. He obviously had many other calls to make.

Maria relaxed, although she didn’t know what was more comforting, the fact that the President hadn’t so easily lied or that she hadn’t contracted Ebola.

“And God bless the United States of America,” said the President as he ended his address.

Walking away from the podium, a cell phone was passed to him and the same message Speaker Lopez had just received was delivered to him for the first time.

The news sent a rush of relief through her body. The panic attack she had been about to succumb to instantly abated. Nick had not given her a parting gift to end all gifts.

As soon as Colonel Barnes received the news, she removed her mask and smiled broadly. No words were needed.

“Alright folks, we’re going to move from here and reconvene in one hour in the National Joint Terrorist Task Force offices at the National Counter Terrorism Center,” announced Turner. “That’s going to be our base of operations. Passes and ID badges are being prepared for you as we speak.”

As comfortable as the President’s operations center was, it was hard to get over the fact that it was simply a very large safe buried deep in the ground, not really a place where any normal person would wish to spend a great deal of time. The room emptied quickly and left Frankie alone with Harry Carson, who seemed perfectly comfortable in the tomb-like environment. Frankie, it seemed, was going to be the kid nobody wanted to play with.

Carson stood up and walked over to Frankie. He offered her his hand to help her up from her seat where she sat as dejected as she had ever felt in her life.

“He fooled many more people than you and I,” he said, pulling her up both physically and mentally. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of or embarrassed about.” He smiled at Frankie trying to put on a brave face.

“Thank you,” she said.

He held the door for her. “So how long were you seeing him?” he asked nonchalantly.

“About five months, three weeks and four days,” she replied. “Give or take a few hours.” He nodded acknowledgment. “Why?”

“Nothing to do with you, it’s just… nothing, sorry, I shouldn’t have asked.”

“No, if there’s something you’re trying to say, just please say it,” she insisted.

“I promise you, it’s nothing to do with you. He just never informed his department of a relationship, something he should have done. It came as a shock to us that he was involved with you, that’s all.”

Frankie stopped and looked more closely at Carson. “Why on earth would he have to inform his department?”

Carson looked around to check that no one was listening. “As I said, he fooled a great number of people. Nick Geller had security clearance as high as it goes. He was one of our most trusted and capable agents. His actions and the danger he poses to us are without precedent.”

“He did want to keep our relationship quiet,” she said. “But I couldn’t.” She smiled and as quickly as the smile came, tears began to flow once again.

Carson led her by the shoulder towards the elevators. The last of the task force had already left without waiting for the two stragglers.

“I should resign,” blurted Frankie.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” replied Carson.

Frankie knew she couldn’t. As long as her country had a use for her, she would give it her best. She wasn’t a quitter.

Boarding the elevator, Carson turned to her. “Ready?”

She knew he was meaning more than just pressing the button for ‘up’.

“Yes,” she replied confidently.

Carson insisted on driving, which was just as well. The massive explosion that had wiped out the West Wing had emanated from the car she had shared with Nick that morning. The parking spot that he had selected had been perfectly planned. The shaped and directional charge of an experimental explosive, still in testing, had meant that the damage to everything except the West Wing was minimal. Almost the entire force had been sent directly into the building, destroying its structure and bringing it down on itself. How more people had not been killed was being described as a miracle. The fact it was a Saturday morning had of course made a big difference. The fact that the Vice President had made it clear that he had wanted his videoconference to be private and confidential had also helped. His security detail had left him to it. After all, he was in one of the safest and most secure buildings on the planet.

“Would you mind if we swung by my house?” she asked Carson. “I’d love to grab a change of clothes. It’s on the way to McLean and the NCTC.”

Carson checked his watch. “I’m not sure we’ve got time.”

“Please,” pleaded Frankie. What she really wanted was to get out of the clothes she was wearing. They smelled of Nick. His aftershave hung on her collar where he had nuzzled her that morning, laughing and joking on their way to the White House.

Carson looked at her puppy dog eyes and as much as he wanted to say no, she reminded him of his daughter. He could never say no to her either. He also didn’t know how to tell her that things were going to be very different. He decided it was easier if she just saw for herself.

“Where to?” he asked.

“Just head towards Wesley Heights,” said Frankie. “I’ll direct you from there.”

With little traffic heading out of Washington - it seemed everybody wanted to see the missing West Wing - they pulled up to Frankie’s address in no time.

Carson whistled as the gates to the property swung open and revealed a spectacular country estate.

“Holy shit!” he said, as the full splendor of the house came into view, along with what seemed like fifty or so law enforcement vehicles, from crime scene vans to local police vehicles and FBI sedans.

“Turn here,” barked Frankie on seeing the unwelcome guests.

Carson followed her instructions and turned down a small lane tucked into the heavily wooded drive. As you approached the house, the angle obscured its existence. Driving back from the house, you couldn’t have missed it. Carson followed the tight wooded drive for what seemed like half a mile, arcing round the perimeter of the main house. The darkness of the drive gave way to a far smaller house, built in a similar style to the far more opulent main house.

“We’re here,” said Frankie awkwardly.

A garage sat off to the left. A Toyota Prius was parked next to a Porsche 911 convertible. The two couldn’t have looked more awkward next to each other. The door into the house looked more like a back door and, as they exited the vehicle, Frankie led Carson around the side of the house. A large terrace led out to one of the most beautiful pools Carson had laid eyes on. A grand staircase at the far end of the pool swept up to the main house.

“The guest house,” said Frankie, watching Carson struggling not to gawp in wonder. The home, pool grounds and landscaped garden were immaculate and beautifully maintained.

Carson was as old in the tooth as they came and was not easily impressed. He had signed off the search warrant himself and it did not cover a guest house. They simply had a house number on University Terrace NW for Aisha Franks’ home address. He hadn’t thought they’d need to search more than a small apartment or home. He certainly hadn’t thought she’d be living in a house that rivaled the White House, or, he corrected himself, living in its guest house. He began to consider that Aisha Franks was a far smarter young woman than he had given her credit for. He was also beginning to see why Aisha Franks had been assigned to the case.

“I really shouldn’t let you in there,” he said, taking his cell from his pocket. He needed to get the team into the right house. He could see the high visibility vests of the team tearing through the main house and winced at what the bill was going to be to fix whoever’s house they had just trashed.

“I’ll stay here if you can just get me a change of clothes,” said Frankie. “I…I smell of Nick,” she confessed awkwardly and uneasily.