Placebo (33 page)

10:33 a.m.
22 minutes left

“Read me what we have.”

“Mr. President, I would rather—”

“I want to hear it while there's still time to change it.”

Brennan Sacco had only been brought in as one of the president's speechwriters six months ago, but he'd discovered right away that it was always this way with President Jeremiah Hoult—last-minute changes. Some of which never even made it to the teleprompter.

Now the presidential limousine caravan turned onto Market Street and passed Declaration House. Five limos so that no one would know which one actually carried the president. Today Brennan was in the fourth, along with the president and two Secret Service agents.

Yes, it was unusual for a speechwriter to work this closely with the president, but Hoult had always insisted that the most important part of his job was sharing his vision for the future with the American people, and the way to do that was through communication.

Obviously, he didn't know that Brennan was being bribed by Dr. Cyrus Arlington to share his own communication with him, leaking the contents of the speeches concerning health care issues.

President Hoult had a copy of this morning's speech on his lap, but rather than read along, he studied his reflection in his ornate handheld mirror. Tweaked his hair a bit. “Go on. Read it to me.”

“Yes, sir,” Brennan said reluctantly. “We'll pick it up in the middle. ‘The American people are tired of the status quo, tired of politics as usual, tired of Washington insiders and Wall Street millionaires controlling their lives and finances when they're barely able to make ends meet. And they're tired of oil conglomerates and giant pharmaceutical firms making record profits while they can barely make their monthly mortgage payments.'”

“That's nice. I like the contrast between profits and payments. Nice alliteration there, and also with ‘make, monthly, and mortgage.'”

“Thank you, sir.”

President Hoult noticed a few hairs out of place, took a small spot of hair putty, rubbed it between his fingers to warm it, and worked it into his hair. “Plays off class envy too. That works well with my constituents.”

“Yes, sir, Mr. President.”

“Go on.”

Brennan cleared his throat. “‘They want change, and one of the ways we're going to give that to them is through health care reform. Today I'm pledging to sign an executive order to cut the waiting period in half between the time when drugs are released to the public and when the generic equivalents of those drugs can be made available. That's the kind of change Americans want. That's the kind of change they deserve.'”

Normally it would be Congress's job to pass new legislation, but a president can bypass all sorts of laws by issuing an executive order, as both Bush and Obama had made eminently clear.

The limos entered the cordoned-off underground parking garage below the Independence National Historical Park's visitor center.

No other cars had been allowed inside it today.

With the Secret Service's presence, for the time being at least, this was the most secure parking garage on the planet.

“Go on. What's next?”

“This is the part I'm still not quite happy with. It has a little too much spin, seems to make those who disagree with you sound heartless and cruel.”

“Let's hear it.”

“Yes, sir. ‘This isn't just a matter of politics, it's a matter of deep humanitarian concern to all Americans. It's a matter of the basic human right of every individual to have affordable health care. It's unconscionable for millionaires and billionaires to keep lining their pockets while letting millions of hardworking middle-class Americans suffer or even die when the drugs that could save them are already available but are prohibitively expensive. This profiteering at the expense of the welfare of fellow Americans in need cannot go on any longer.'”

“Perfect.” President Hoult folded his hands in his lap, looked reflectively out the window at the concrete walls passing by. “Yes. Very nice. Now, the rest. The part about cutting frivolous military spending on dead-end programs to reinvest in our country's treasured public school system: construction paper for kindergartners instead of ESP programs that'll never produce results—but don't put it quite like that.”

“Of course not, sir.”

Their driver parked the limo.

“Come on. I want you to help me make sure we have that last section nailed down.”

“Yes, sir, Mr. President.”

Then Brennan Sacco, the president, and his entourage went to the preparation room in the Independence Visitor Center to finalize the speech.

10:38 a.m.
17 minutes left

Lonnie deciphered Dr. Tanbyrn's equations.

Fionna and Xavier were back at the Franklin Grand Hotel in Xavier's room, reviewing the footage of the suicide bombers, when he knocked on the door. Fionna had been able to enhance the image enough for Xavier to verify that it really was a rifle's scope in the window across the street. They were about to contact Jevin when Lonnie appeared.

“What did you find?” Fionna asked him.

Lonnie explained that the notations had to do with differences in quantum entanglement related to the amount of alpha wave activity in the brain during various mental states. “Apparently, a relaxed state of mind is necessary for both the sender and receiver during mind-to-mind communication.”

“Both?” Xavier said. “Both the sender and the receiver?”

“Yes. Mom, I was wondering, these algorithms, are they for real or was it just an assignment?”

Both.

“It was an assignment.”

The truth, but not quite the whole truth.

Grown-ups making grown-up decisions.

“Nice work, Lonnie. It's possible that Mr. Wray and I will have to step out for a bit, so I may need you to watch your siblings again.”

“We'll be fine. The girls are reading, Donnie's playing video games.”

As soon as he'd exited the room, Fionna speed-dialed Jevin, put the call on speakerphone, but before she could tell her friend anything about what they'd found, Jevin detailed his and Charlene's deductions regarding the possible attempt on President Hoult's life. “Dr. Colette told us that the twins are military assassins.”

“Of course.” Xavier nodded soberly. “I knew black ops would fit in here somewhere. It all makes perfect sense.”

Fionna relayed to Jevin what Lonnie had found regarding the necessity of both the sender and receiver being relaxed at the time of the connection.

“I don't know for certain the kind of time frame we're looking at here,” Jevin said. “The reference to the eagle at the park, the eleven o'clock time mentioned by Tanbyrn—”

Xavier cut in, “Means it's going down this morning.”

“Yes. I think we need to assume that. Dr. Colette thinks the twins will wait for her, but they'll want to move on it as soon as we get there. We're on our way to find them now.”

“What can we do to help?” Xavier asked. “Do you want us to meet you there?”

“No. If Lonnie is right and the relaxed state of mind is vital for both the sender and the receiver, we need to make sure the president isn't going to be able to relax until the twins are stopped.”

“You're thinking a distraction.”

“Yeah. A big one.”

He looked at his duffle bag and Fionna saw his eyes light up. “I have just the thing.”

They ended the call.

Fionna asked him, “You're not thinking of blowing something up, are you?”

“Oh, something even better than that.”

“Hmm . . . would it be safe for the kids to see?”

“Oh yeah. This'll be a great educational experience. In fact, I think I'm gonna need their help.”

Dr. Cyrus Arlington met Detective Rothstein and Sergeant Adams as he departed the helicopter at the landing pad on top of RixoTray's corporate headquarters.

He told the two Philadelphia Police Department officers the story about Banner blackmailing him, and he was surprised at how readily they seemed to believe him. They informed him they would be contacting him later to follow up on a few things, then left him alone. Just like that.

Problem solved.

Or at least postponed.

It was time to contact the twins. Make sure everything was in place.

And then let Akinsanya know things were a go.

10:43
12 minutes left

Just as we reach exit 338, Dr. Colette gets the call from Darren with the address—the Faulkner-Kernel Funeral Home on River Road, beside the Schuylkill River.

A funeral home? Why a funeral home?

“It's not far,” Riah tells us. “Should be less than ten minutes.”

Charlene suggests we try the Secret Service again, but Riah is against the idea. “Believe me, if law enforcement shows up, the twins will think nothing of slaughtering everyone there. These two are specialists, but they won't move on the president without me.”

But in the end I decide there's too much at stake.

I call the Secret Service and tell them the address on River Road, however, just like before, it doesn't sound like they're taking me seriously. They insist that I not hang up, but I do. They know as much as we do now and it's up to them to take action.

I keep the cell on.

Let them track my GPS. We'll take them right to the twins.

For the president's visit, the Secret Service had stationed agents throughout the greater Philadelphia area and had two on the north side of the city near the Schuylkill River.

Policy dictated that they follow up on every threat, no matter how preposterous, so the district command center immediately dispatched agents to the funeral home.

President Hoult straightened his suit coat, checked his tie, then looked over the final notes and revisions he'd made to the speech.

His press secretary leaned into the room. “They're almost ready for you outside, Mr. President.”

“Fine.”

“Is there anything you need?”

“No. How does my hair look?”

“It looks perfect, sir.”

Then she left and President Hoult took a moment to calm himself, as was his custom, before addressing the nation.