Triggers (22 page)

Babies crying.

Gunfire.

“Mr. President?” Snow said. “Sir, for God’s sake!”

Agent Dawson moved in, too, and also said, “Mr. President?”

Kadeem knew, of course, that neither of them noticed, or, if they
did
notice, that neither of them cared that he was in distress, too. That was
normal here in Washington, the way it had been not just since the start of this war but going right back to Korea.

But maybe, just maybe, that would change now. He tried to shunt aside his own fear so that he could see Jerrison’s face contort, see him recoil from some invisible blow or explosion, see him, the president of the United States, be the first person holding that office in decades to walk in a soldier’s shoes, share a soldier’s burden, and feel a soldier’s terror at the things those back home had ordered soldiers to do.

SUSAN
Dawson spoke into her sleeve mike. “Get Singh in here right away!” She wheeled on Kadeem Adams. “What did you do to him?”

“Nothing,” said Adams, but he seemed to be struggling to get even that single word out.

Susan looked over at the president, lying on his bed, his head propped up, his eyes wide with terror, sweat beading on his forehead. Dr. Alyssa Snow was listening to his chest with a stethoscope.

“Nothing my ass!” said Susan. “What did you do to him?”

But Kadeem’s eyes were closed and he was swaying erratically from side to side, as if having trouble keeping his balance. He hadn’t touched him. He hadn’t done anything, and yet—

“For God’s sake, Kadeem,” Susan exclaimed, “he’s recovering from heart surgery!”

She heard rapid footfalls in the corridor outside, and then the door burst open, revealing Ranjip Singh in the company of one of the Secret Service agents. Susan pointed at Jerrison. “Kadeem did something to the president’s mind, and now he’s having a seizure.”

Susan watched Ranjip turn to look at Kadeem, and she followed his gaze. Kadeem had his eyes scrunched tightly shut and was shaking his head rapidly in a small arc from left to right. His forehead was slick with sweat.

“Oh, shit,” said Singh, the first time Susan had heard him swear. He went over to Kadeem and guided him—Kadeem’s eyes were still closed—to the chair next to the president’s bed, and gently, almost lovingly, he eased Kadeem into it. And then he took one of Kadeem’s hands in his, light brown against dark brown, and, to Susan’s surprise, he reached over and took one of the president’s in his other hand, beige against light brown, and he stood between the two men, a human bridge, and he said, “All right, both of you, listen to me—listen to me! You’re having a flashback. It’s me, it’s Ranjip Singh, and you’re at Luther Terry Hospital. You’re home, you’re in the United States, and you’re safe. You’re safe!”

Susan started toward the bed; she didn’t like that Singh had brought Kadeem so close to Jerrison. But Dr. Snow motioned for her to stay back. Susan could see the sheet over the president’s chest heaving up and down. Above the rapid beeping of his heart-rate monitor, she could hear Kadeem whimpering softly.

“You’re
safe,”
Ranjip said again. “You’re safe. That was thousands of kilometers away and many, many months ago. It’s over. Kadeem, it’s over. And Mr. President—Mr. Jerrison—
Seth
—it’s
over.”

Susan felt helpless—and furious; she never should have allowed Adams in here. Christ, he might end up as the guy who’d managed to succeed at what Gordo Danbury had failed to do. The president’s heart was still racing, and Dr. Snow was busily preparing a hypodermic.

“Take a deep breath,” Ranjip said, looking at the president, whose eyes were still wide, and “Take a deep breath,” he said to Kadeem, whose grip, Susan saw, was so tight now on Singh’s hand that it must be hurting them both. “Hold it in,” Ranjip said. “Just hold it, for a count of five: one, two, three, four, five. Now, let it out, slowly, slowly—that’s right, Seth, that’s right. Kadeem, you can do it, too: slowly, gently, let the air out, let the memory out, release it, let it go…”

There was an extended silence from the president’s monitor as his
heart skipped a beat, and when that happened, Susan’s own followed suit. Dr. Snow looked at him with concern, but when the beeps started again, they were progressively further apart.

“Again,” said Ranjip. “Take a deep breath again, both of you. Relax. Now, concentrate on something peaceful: a clear blue sky. That’s it; that’s all—just that. The sky, blue and clean and bright; a beautiful summer’s day, not a cloud to be seen. Peaceful, calming, relaxing.”

It looked to Susan as though Kadeem’s grip was lessening a bit, and he’d stopped making sounds. The president’s eyes were no longer wide, and he was blinking rapidly—perhaps as he imagined looking up at a sunny sky.

Jerrison turned at last to Singh and seemed to recognize him. “Thank you,” he said softly. “Thank you.”

Singh nodded and let go of the president’s hand. He looked at Kadeem, and Dr. Snow immediately moved in and mopped the president’s brow. She then placed her stethoscope back on the president’s chest and nodded, apparently satisfied with what she was hearing.

Kadeem was shaking, Susan saw, as if he were freezing to death. Ranjip was now facing him directly. He took both his hands and looked straight into Kadeem’s eyes, which had finally opened. “It’s all right,” Ranjip said again. “It’s all right.”

Ranjip had a puzzled expression. Susan realized the Canadian wanted to ask Kadeem what had triggered the flashback, but, of course, he couldn’t; asking him that would bring the trigger to mind and might set off another episode. “He did it,” Susan said, pointing at Kadeem. “Deliberately.”

“No,” said Ranjip, shaking his head. “Surely not.”

“He did it,” Susan repeated. “He did that to the president.”

Ranjip looked at Kadeem, as if expecting a denial, but when none was forthcoming, Ranjip said softly, his tone conveying he was stunned by what the young man had done. “Kadeem…”

Susan spoke into her sleeve. “Dawson to Hudkins and Michaelis: come to Prospector’s room right away.” She looked at Kadeem. “You’ve made the mistake of your life,” she said. “This was the stupidest thing you—”

“Agent Dawson.” The voice was weak but oh-so-familiar.

She turned to face Prospector. “Yes, Mr. President?”

“Go…easy…on the…young man,” Jerrison said.

“But, sir, he—”

Jerrison silenced her with a hand gesture and he turned his gaze to Kadeem just as the door opened, revealing the two agents Susan had called for. “Private Adams,” Jerrison said, still weak, “was that…what it was…really like?”

Kadeem nodded once. “Yes, sir, Mr. President. I’m sorry I had to—”

Susan saw the president make the same silencing gesture at Kadeem as he had at her, and Seth Jerrison was a hard man to disobey. “You went through all of that?”

“Yes, sir, Mr. President.” Kadeem paused, then: “And not just me, sir. Lots of us went through it, or something similar.”

Jerrison seemed to consider this for a time, then, at last, he slowly nodded, and, to Susan’s surprise, he said, “Thank you, Private Adams. Thank you…for sharing that with me.”

And then Kadeem Adams surprised Susan. He stood up ramrod straight and crisply saluted his commander in chief. “Thank
you,
sir.”

ERIC
Redekop and Janis Falconi exited the building, Eric carefully avoiding the reporters who were camped out front. It was a cold night, and he found himself feeling an urge to put his arm around Jan’s shoulder, but he didn’t. They walked along Pennsylvania Avenue. Things were eerily silent for a Friday night; doubtless, after today’s bomb blast, many people were staying indoors. Eric remembered it had been the same way after 9/11, when an American Airlines 757 had crashed into the Pentagon.

In the first block west of LT, they had a choice between the Foggy Bottom Pub and Capitol Grounds Coffee; thank God the pubs and cafés were keeping their doors open. They opted for the pub and found a booth near the back where they could talk.

“So,” Eric said, after they’d sat down, and “So,” said Janis.

A middle-aged waitress looking worn down by the day’s events took their orders: two draft beers.

“I don’t know how long these linkages will last,” Eric said, “but…”

“Yeah,” said Jan. “But.”

“I…ah, I didn’t know…I don’t mean to pry. Really, I’ve been trying not to, but…”

“But you can’t help it. I know; I keep getting Josh Latimer’s memories, too.”

“At work, sometimes…when you’re alone, you…to…to ease the pain, you…”

She lowered her eyes. “Are you going to report me?”

“No, no. I’d like to see you get help, though. You know there are confidential programs…”

“Thanks.” She paused. “There’s a lot of bad stuff in my life.”

They were seated on opposite sides of the booth; her hands were on the table between them. He found his hand moving over to cover one of hers. “I know.”

Their beers arrived.

“ALL
right,” said Susan, after Kadeem had finished saluting the president. “That’s enough. Private Adams, you’re under arrest.” She’d not only have to lock him up, but also sedate him to make sure he didn’t try something similar again.

To his credit, Kadeem lifted his hands slightly. “Yes, ma’am.”

But the president stirred on his bed. “No.”

“Sir, he
assaulted
you.”

Jerrison managed some more strength. “I said no, Susan.”

“Sir, we can’t let him debilitate you at will.” She indicated that Kadeem should move toward the closed door.

“No,” said Jerrison again. “Private Adams stays, but I want the rest of you out of here. All of you: Alyssa, Sheila, Susan, Professor Singh, Agent Michaelis, and you, there, the photographer. Out.”

“Sir!” said Susan.

“Do it. And find Maria Ramirez, the pregnant woman, if she hasn’t yet gone home. I want to speak to both of them.”

“But, Mr. President, I—”

“Right away, Agent Dawson.”

Susan nodded. “Yes, sir.”

SETH
Jerrison found it odd to be talking with Kadeem Adams. They’d only just met, but he had all the young man’s memories. Normally, Seth didn’t have much patience for people telling him things he already knew, but listening to Kadeem go on about his life in Los Angeles was actually relaxing; as soon as Kadeem started to tell a story, the episode came to Seth’s mind, just as it had come to Kadeem’s, although he doubtless was reconstructing it differently. And so while Kadeem spoke, Seth let his mind concentrate on the problem at hand.

Agent Dawson opened the door to the president’s room; she looked relieved to see him simply lying there, listening to Kadeem.

“Mr. President,” she said, indicating a young woman with long brown hair, “this is Maria Ramirez. You’re in luck; she was still waiting for her husband to come pick her up.”

“Thank you,” Seth said weakly. “That will be all, Susan.”

She blew out air, clearly unhappy, then looked meaningfully at Kadeem. “I’ll be just outside.”

Seth waited until she’d left, then indicated for Maria to take a chair; Kadeem was already sitting in the one closest to the bed.

“Maria, thank you for making time for me.”

“It’s an honor,
Señor Presidente.”

“I understand you and your husband are expecting a baby.”

“Sí.”

“Congratulations. That’s wonderful.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“I have a favor to ask of you, Maria.” Seth turned to Kadeem. “I need a favor from you, as well, please; I need help from both of you.”
He caught his breath, then went on. “Professor Singh tells me that you’re linked to Susan Dawson, Kadeem. And, Maria, I’m told you’re linked to Darryl Hudkins, the other Secret Service agent who was affected by all this.”

“Yeah,” said Kadeem, and
“Sí,”
added Maria.

“What I’m about to tell you very few people know so far. The person who shot me was named Gordon Danbury. He was a Secret Service agent. Agents Dawson and Hudkins know this—can you find it in their memories?”

Kadeem looked astonished, but he nodded. But Maria said, “I already knew this. Agent Susan asked me about it.”

“Really?” said Seth.

“Yes. She wanted to know if she could trust Agent Darryl.”

“Ah. Yes, well, that’s what I want to know, too. Whether I can trust him—and whether I can trust Susan. If the two of you search your memories, you can tell me if Agent Dawson or Agent Hudkins are compromised. Just ask yourselves if you knew anything in advance about a plot to kill the president—because if they knew about it, you’d know about it, too. Kadeem?”

The young man frowned. “Nothing, sir.”

“Maria?”

“No. Like I told Agent Susan, Agent Darryl is not involved.”

“Secret Service agents use my code name: Prospector. Any memories of a plan to kill—or assassinate—or take out—Prospector? Or to eliminate POTUS? That’s P-O-T-U-S: president of the United States. Anything?”

“Well, there’s all kinds of stuff about the investigation since that guy shot you,” Kadeem said. “Sue’s been getting constant updates. But I’d swear she didn’t know about it beforehand.”

“You’re sure?”

“Mr. President, I know her like I know myself. I’m sure.”

“And Maria? What about Agent Hudkins? Again, any inkling that he might have known in advance, or been involved in any way?”

“No, sir. Nothing like that.”

“All right,” said Seth. “Thank you. I’m glad to know I can trust Agents Dawson and Hudkins. There’s already one other agent who has come under suspicion, a man named Jenks. But if Danbury and Jenks were part of a larger conspiracy, and if that conspiracy involves others in the Secret Service, well, I…”

“You be fucked,” said Kadeem. “Sir.”

“Yes, exactly, Private Adams. I be fucked.”

AGENTS
Dawson and Michaelis stood outside the door to President Jerrison’s room, along with Dr. Snow and Sheila the nurse; Singh had gone back to his lab. Susan looked left and right down the corridor, nodding at the other Secret Service agents she could see at either end.

At last, the door opened, and she looked at the two people who were emerging: Private Kadeem Adams and Maria Ramirez.