Red Cell Seven (5 page)

CHAPTER 4

W
ITH A
quick burst of automatic gunfire, the three men wearing long black coats murdered the security guard racing toward them. The older man tumbled to the mall floor on his stomach with his arms outstretched as the hail of bullets shredded his body.

Two of the men turned their weapons on the crowd while the third destroyed the security cameras overlooking the area. Then he turned his gun on the crowd, too.

Calm turned to chaos in a heartbeat. People in front of Jennie shrieked and raced past her or darted into stores for cover as the sound of the guns peppered the air. But for a few seconds, all she could do was gaze straight ahead. Her shoes seemed cemented to the floor as the terrible scene erupted in front of her.

At that point everything seemed to slow down, so she could see every detail of what was unfolding.

The father coming out of the store to Jennie’s right lunged for his daughter. But a bullet tore through him just as he reached his little girl, killing him instantly as the storefront glass shattered behind him when another bullet blew through it. The little girl screamed as her father tumbled to the tiles in front of her.

Jennie had been about to turn and run. But she couldn’t leave the little girl out there alone, helpless. So she raced the few steps to her and grabbed the girl’s tiny wrist.

As she did, she locked eyes with the assassin on the right. She’d heard the term “killer instinct” so many times, but she’d never actually seen it. Until now. The man had cold, dark shark eyes. And yet, as lifeless as they seemed, she could still see passion burning in them. “Come on!” she urged the little girl as the man pointed his gun at her. “Run with me! 
Run!
”

As Jennie turned to flee, a bullet tore through her shoulder from behind. It sent her tumbling to the floor and the new phone spinning from her hand. She came to rest on the glass-strewn tiles exactly as the security guard had, on her stomach with her arms outstretched. And the little girl came down right beside her.

Jennie had never been to Alaska. In fact, she’d never been anywhere near it. But she’d read an article on the Internet about a man who’d survived a grizzly bear attack on Kodiak Island by playing dead even as the huge animal toyed with him. The awful pain in her shoulder spread quickly through her body, but somehow she managed to stay still and not moan.

“Close your eyes,” she whispered to the little girl as they stared at each other. She tried not to show any fear. The little girl was obviously terrified, and if Jennie showed fear, the little girl might start screaming. Then she wouldn’t have a chance. “Don’t move. Don’t even breathe. You must listen to me.”

“Okay,” she whispered back, closing her eyes as she’d been told.

She was terrified, all right, Jennie could see, but she was listening. Jennie shut her eyes and went perfectly still, too.

“Shoot her,” someone yelled from the distance.

“She’s already dead” was the response of the deep voice, from very close.

Even as the cold barrel of a gun brushed her cheek, Jennie didn’t flinch. Even as she smelled the leather of his shoes and the awful pain coming from the wound knifed through her body, she kept still. She just hoped the little girl could, too.

“Shoot her anyway. Make sure she’s dead. Come on!”

The cold metal withdrew from her face as the screaming in the mall faded and the awful sounds of the dying and the wounded rose. For a moment Jennie believed she was safe, that whoever was standing over her wasn’t going to obey the command.

But then the barrel of a gun pressed firmly against her back, slightly off-center to her spine. Somehow she fought the urge to scream.

CHAPTER 5

“A
FRIEND
of mine told me it looked like a war zone outside with all the military personnel,” Bill said quietly to Troy as they entered the Oval Office. They’d been escorted by two Secret Service agents every step of the way since arriving on White House grounds. “And like Walter Reed Hospital in here.”

The level of security around President Dorn had been ratcheted up dramatically since the assassination attempt a few weeks ago in Los Angeles. Before the shooting Dorn was constantly complaining to the Secret Service that they were getting in his way and not letting him be himself by wading into crowds to shake hands and kiss babies. But those days were gone for good now, by the president’s own admission. The assassination attempt had affected him profoundly. For the first time in his life Dorn had met his mortality face-to-face, and he’d never again allow himself to be so vulnerable.

“Your friend was right,” Troy muttered back as the two agents who’d been tailing them finally turned around and left them alone.

To the right was a long table covered with medical devices and boxes of all shapes and sizes. Beside it was an adjustable bed, raised so whoever was in it would be sitting up.

“Come in, Jensens,” President Dorn called to them weakly.

He was sitting behind the desk across the room, in a wheelchair. The assassin’s bullet had barely missed his heart on that outdoor stage in L.A. It had been off target a critical fraction of an inch only because Rex Stein, Dorn’s former chief of staff, had lunged in front of Dorn at the podium just as the shot had been fired from a building across the street. It had killed Stein, but he’d saved the president’s life by deflecting the bullet with one of his ribs before it tore out of him and into the president.

A sturdy-looking nurse wearing a white uniform stood behind the president with her arms folded tightly across her chest. She looked uneasy to Troy, like she hated that, against his team of physicians’ stern advice, the president had still deemed himself well enough to leave Walter Reed two days ago and return to work in the West Wing. More to the point, he guessed she was worried that Dorn might keel over and die at any moment—on her watch—and that she’d be blamed.

Before following his father’s footsteps across the royal blue carpet emblazoned with the seal of the president, Troy subtly saluted the arrows the eagle clasped in its left talon.

“It’s good to see you again, Mr. President,” Bill said respectfully as he stepped behind the desk and shook hands with Dorn. “You’re looking much better, sir.”

Troy took his turn to shake hands, making certain to ease off on his normally firm grip. Bill, Jack, and Troy had met with President Dorn at Walter Reed after the shooting. Though he was obviously still weak, Dorn looked in much better shape and spirits than he had that day. He’d looked pretty close to going flatline then, but now he was getting back to being the “presidential floor model,” as Bill had always called him because of his dark good looks and commanding charisma. As liberal and dovish as Dorn had proven to be, Troy still had to respect the man’s courage and dedication to country. The nation had gotten a tremendous emotional boost watching him walk back into the White House two days ago on television, even if it had been slowly and with the help of an aide on either side.

The president had been in the process of shutting down Red Cell Seven before the assassination attempt, but that and the massive explosion of a huge liquefied natural gas tanker only ten miles off the coast of Virginia at almost the same moment as the shooting had apparently changed his thinking. If the tanker had reached the shoreline, countless thousands in Norfolk and Virginia Beach would have died. Thankfully, two Navy fighter jets scrambled out of the Norfolk naval base had destroyed the ship before it churned close enough for the terrorists commanding the craft to blow it up and inflict their devastation.

Thanks to Jack,
Troy thought. Jack was the one who’d uncovered the LNG plot, and a lot of people had him to thank for their lives—though they didn’t know it. Then Maddux had taken his revenge, the bastard.

“Hello, Mr. President.”

Though Dorn looked better to Troy, his breathing was still measured and a little shallow. His movements were deliberate, and though he was trying hard to seem energetic, it was obvious that he was tired—physically and emotionally.

“Hello, Troy.” Dorn smiled up warmly as they shook hands, then he gestured over his shoulder. “Guys, that’s Connie. She’s here to take the reins of power in case I expire unexpectedly.”

Connie nodded stiffly to Troy and Bill, obviously not enjoying her momentary celebrity status or the president’s remark. “Hello.”

Dorn grinned wryly. “She thinks I came back to the White House too soon.”

He waved to her and then at the door. “Give us a few moments, please.”

Connie glanced nervously at the bed and the table beside it. “Mr. President, I’m not supposed to leave you at any—”

“Connie, if I collapse these men will get you back in here very quickly. They don’t want my death on their shoulders either, okay?”

“Yes, sir.”

“But don’t go far.”

“No, sir.”

“And over there,” the president went on, pointing at the man who was sitting in a wingback chair a few feet away, “is Stewart Baxter, my new chief of staff.”

“We met Stewart at Walter Reed a few weeks ago,” Bill reminded Dorn. “He was there that day we came to see you.”

“Oh, right, of course.” Dorn’s grin faded as he watched Connie leave the Oval Office. “Stewart is replacing Rex Stein, God rest his soul.”

Baxter had a full head of snow-white hair, but other than that and a few shallow lines at the corners of his thin-lipped mouth, he looked extremely fit for a man who was almost sixty. His skin had a healthy glow to it, and there was no paunch above his belt.

“Hello, Stewart,” Troy said in a friendly tone as they shook hands. Baxter’s expression was locked in an arrogant smirk, as it had been at the hospital. “Good to see you again.” Baxter had a reputation in Washington as a man who got things done. Still, not many people liked him. Troy understood why. He gave off a very negative vibe. “I trust you’ve been well.”

“Did I meet you that day?” Baxter asked as if he wasn’t really interested, not bothering to get up from his chair to shake hands. “I remember your father but not you.”

Impossible, Troy figured. It hadn’t been that long since they’d met, and an Oval Office chief of staff was trained to remember everyone. Baxter was simply trying to establish dominance. It seemed like everyone in Washington was always doing that. Like everyone here was part of some inept wolf pack. It was one of the main reasons Troy hated this city. Everything here was about image, not results.

“I want to thank both of you for coming all the way down here today from Connecticut.” The president pulled the jacket he was wearing tighter around his thick sweater as he glanced out the window behind the desk into the cold, gray afternoon. “I know this is a sad day for you two. For me, too,” he added. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

Bill nodded solemnly as he and Troy eased into the two chairs positioned in front of the big desk. “Thank you, Mr. President.”

“It was Jack who called Rex Stein on the platform in Los Angeles. That’s why Rex ran to me at the podium. Jack called him just in the nick of time.” The president glanced from the window to Troy. “Right?”

Troy nodded. “And if it weren’t for Jack, that LNG tanker would have made it all the way to Virginia. And I mean all the way to the beach.”

“So many people would have died,” Dorn murmured, looking past Troy.

“Including a lot of military personnel at our naval base there,” Bill said.

“Rex and Jack are heroes.” Dorn pointed at Troy. “You are, too, son.”

“Thank you, sir, but I—”

“I should have been better to Rex,” Dorn said. “He was right all along about me needing to be more careful, but I ignored him. I should have given him more credit. If I had, he might still be alive. I’ll have to deal with that for a long time.”

Troy glanced at Baxter, who didn’t seem swayed at all by the emotion in Dorn’s voice. He was picking at his fingernails and didn’t seem at all interested in his boss’s sentiment.

The president grimaced. “I learned a great lesson.” He held up a hand. “I’m not trying to say I’m turning into Ronald Reagan, George W. Bush, or Attila the Hun. But maybe there’s more of a place for Red Cell Seven in our intelligence structure than I thought. In fact, maybe it should be one of the cornerstones from now on.” Dorn took a deep breath. “Jack was an inspiration for me in terms of changing my thinking on that.”

“And with all due respect, sir,” Troy spoke up, “the ironic part about what you just said is that Jack might have been even more liberal than you.”

“You’re the hawk,” the president spoke up, nodding at Troy. “Don’t think I didn’t spot that salute to the arrows.”

“Of course I am.” Troy had thought the president was looking at Baxter when he’d saluted the arrows. “You know that.” He glanced at Baxter. Dorn had mentioned Red Cell Seven by name a few moments ago. He wasn’t supposed to have told Baxter anything about the files Bill had given him. But he must have broken that promise. “And you know why, Mr. President.”

“Yes, I—”

“Jack wasn’t actually your son, was he, Bill?”

Troy’s eyes raced back to Baxter. It was the first time Baxter had spoken, other than to greet them. In his peripheral vision, Troy saw his father’s posture go defensive.

“What are you talking about?” Bill asked. “He was absolutely my son. He
is
my son.”

“He wasn’t your
natural
son,” Baxter went on. “He wasn’t your blood. See, that’s what I’m getting at.” The chief of staff gestured at Troy. “Not like Troy is. Jack was your wife’s natural son, but not yours.”

“No. He wasn’t,” Bill agreed tersely.

“And what ever happened to Rita Hayes?” Baxter continued. “She was your executive assistant at First Manhattan for so many years. Why’d she quit so suddenly, and where did she go? No one can seem to find—”

“What’s your point,
Stewart
?” Troy interrupted. When they’d shaken hands, Baxter hadn’t reacted well to a man thirty years his junior addressing him by his first name. So Troy did it again, this time loudly.

“Yes, Stewart,” President Dorn echoed. “What is your point?”

“We did background checks on you two before you came down here today,” Baxter answered, as though none of this should be a big deal and he didn’t see why everyone was getting so irritated. “Thoroughly, I might add.” He shrugged. “I’m just making certain we’re all on the same page, okay?”

“Okay,” Bill snapped. “Let’s do that. Let’s make certain we’re all on
exactly
the same page.” He gestured at the president. “Sir, Mr. Baxter should not be in here while we discuss Red Cell Seven. And this is nothing personal. This is not because of what he just said.”

“I’m the president’s chief of staff,” Baxter countered, glaring at Bill. “I’ll stay in here if I choose to. And in this case, I do. In fact, it’s critical that I stay, given the subject matter.”

“Then Troy and I are leaving, Mr. President,” Bill stated, starting to rise from his chair. “I will not discuss this topic in front of anyone but you, sir. It’s that simple.”

“No, no,” Dorn spoke up quickly. “Sit down. Please, Bill.” He glanced at Baxter. “I’m sorry, Stewart, but you’ll have to leave.”

“What?”

“I have to trust Bill on this.”

Baxter clenched his jaw as he stared back at the president. Finally he stood up and stalked across the carpet.

When he reached the door, he turned back and pointed at Troy. “Don’t let these cowboys put on their Red Cell Seven Stetsons any time they want to, Mr. President. Rope them in, like you were going to before you were shot. We can’t allow RCS to keep operating without putting some significant constraints on it. If we don’t, these guys will get this country in a lot of trouble.”

“T
HOSE PEOPLE
are idiots,” Kaashif said. “They couldn’t interrogate their way out of a paper bag.”

“Don’t be so sure,” the man driving the pickup truck warned.