“Agent Busbee, Agent Weiner, radio check,” a voice said over the earpiece Gideon had picked up from one of the agents.
“I’ve got an idea,” Gideon said.
He waved at the camera, then pointed at his microphone, and shook his head. Tillman, getting into the act, waved, too.
“Agent Busbee, we see two agents at an unauthorized location,” the voice on the radio said. “Is that you?”
Gideon kept his head down and pointed at the door, as though discussing something with Tillman. But he gave a big thumbs-up to the camera.
“Agent Busbee, is that Agent Weiner accompanying you?”
Gideon gave another thumbs-up. “Just bang on the door,” he said to Tillman. “They’ll think our radios are messed up.”
Tillman whacked on the door with the flat of his palms.
“Agents Busbee and Weiner, you are not authorized to be in your present location. Return to your post.”
Tillman continued to whack on the steel door. “They may open the door,” he said. “But when they do, there’s liable to be about ten guys with MP5s pointed right at our heads.”
“That’s what I’m counting on,” Gideon said.
Suddenly there was a scrabbling sound on the other side of the door. The door swung open, and four armed men stood around the door, P90s at low ready.
“Oh, my bad,” Tillman said. “No MP5s. They’ve all got P90s.”
After that came a chorus of “Down on the ground! Down on the ground! Down on the ground!”
Tillman and Gideon dropped slowly to one knee as a fifth man, the group leader, approached. He wore a weasly smile, his hair greased back and slick. It was Deputy Directo�einerr Dahlgren.
“Gideon Davis,” he said. “And this must be your brother, Tillman.”
They were just inside a long concrete hallway. And there, about twenty yards down the hallway, was a large red door with a name stenciled on it in black paint: HVAC ACCESS ROOM.
“Dahlgren!” Gideon said. “There are two men in that room who are planning to inject hydrogen cyanide into the heating system. You need to get in there right now and stop them. If I were you, I’d do it quickly because if you don’t, they’re going to kill everybody in this building.”
“You’ll need to come up with a better story if you want to save yourself from an extended stay at Leavenworth.”
“Listen to him, you shithead,” said Tillman. “You’re about to take your last breath.”
“Language,” clucked Dahlgren.
“Look,” said Gideon. “Let me open the door. You have nothing to lose. If I’m wrong, it’s just a few minutes of your time. But if I’m right, and you could have prevented the deaths of the president, vice president, and hundreds of senators and congressmen, you’ll go down in history as the man that let it happen.”
“You’re not opening any door,” said Dahlgren. But Gideon could see that his warning words had worked on Dahlgren as he signaled to two of the men. “Take them to the detention facility.” Then he withdrew his pistol from his holster. “I’ll open the goddamn door, and we’ll end this bullshit once and for all.
Wilmot and Collier heard the commotion outside the HVAC Access Room.
“What the hell is going on out there?” Collier asked as he peered through the keyhole. “There are Secret Service guys arresting other Secret Service guys.”
“Something’s wrong,” Wilmot said. “Initiate the sequence now.”
“It’ll take a minute thirty for the whole cycle.” Collier pecked at his keyboard and began typing.
“I thought you had it ready to go,” Wilmot said.
“I do. But the heat has to cycle on. First the gas, then the air handler heats up. The blowers don’t come on until the air reaches—”
“Okay. Just get it going.”
For the first time in a long while, Shanelle Klotz felt a flicker of hope. “You’re not going to make it, you know,” she said. “They’ll be here in—” She looked at the door. “Never mind, they’re already here.”
The knob on the locked door jiggled, then someone kicked at it.
“Shit,” said Wilmot.
Collier pecked away at the keys. “Just a few more seconds . . .”
Someone kicked at the door again.
Wilmot put down the small box with the red switch on it and grabbed the gun he had taken from the agentt t Athe agent. “We can’t wait any longer. You finish up in here. I’ll hold them off.”
“No, sir.” Collier stood. “Let me do it.”
“But we need you to initiate the sequence.”
“It’s done. I’ve armed it.” He retrieved the triggering device and handed it back to Wilmot. “All you have to do is flip that button.”
Wilmot regarded Collier, then handed him the gun.
Collier didn’t take it. “I’ve got something bigger in mind.”
“Thank you, son, for everything.”
Collier saluted. “I’m proud to have been your son.”
Wilmot mustered a smile he hoped disguised his contempt for Collier. It surprised him that he felt that way, especially in the face of Collier’s sacrifice.
President Erik Wade heard the sergeant at arms call out, “Madam Speaker, the President of the United States!” and he moved through the door into the House chamber.
Since Wade had been a governor before being elected president, he had only visited the House chamber a handful of times before. It was a little smaller, a little less grand than he’d remembered.
His security contingent was under instructions not to come on too strong. The room was full of people with long histories of service to the United States. At the moment this facility was probably as secure as Fort Knox. Wade wanted to press the flesh. He paused, shook hands with a California Democrat, a South Carolina Republican, a senator, a House member. Wade had a near-photographic memory and spoke to each person by name. The House member was a man he’d never met, but he managed to dredge up the congressman’s daughter’s name.
“How’s Christine’s leg, Ted?” he asked, referencing a soccer injury he’d read about in one of the many briefing books he’d absorbed since becoming president.
“Fine, Mr. President. Thank you for asking.” The lowly congressman’s face shone, surprised that the president even knew his name, much less the details of his daughter’s broken third metatarsal.
“Thank you for helping me out on this energy bill,” Wade said.
“I didn’t know I was,” the congressman said.
“Oh, I have confidence you will,” Wade said with a wink.
Then he was moving along, shaking more hands.
When he finally reached the podium, the text of his speech clutched in his left hand, he noticed that the Secret Service agents were whispering intently into their microphones.
They looked stirred up about something. But that was their job. If it was something serious, they’d grab him and hustle him to safety. Meanwhile, he had other things to think about.
The president shook hands with his vice president and smiled broadly. Erik Wade disliked the vice president, and he was sure it was mutual. But this was politics.
He handed a copy of his speech to the vice president, then kissed the Speaker on the cheek. He not only despised the Speaker, but he also feared her a little. An onlooker gauging their smiles might have thought the two were long-lost cousins. “Good to see you, Madam Speaker. You’re looking lovely as ever.”
“Flattery will get you nowhere, Mr. President.”
Erik Wade laughed loudly. “As demanded by protocol, Madam Speaker, I now present you the text of my address.”
“As protocol demands, I cheerfully accept.” She then moved toward the microphone and said, “I have the high privilege and distinct honor to present the president of the United States.”