As Elizabeth stood in front of the elevator, surrounded by five Secret Service men, she wondered how she’d ever get used to how guarded she had to be at all times. Her only private moments since her election were in the bathroom, bedroom, and on the rare occasions she asked to be alone with a family member. And even then, the Secret Service stood guard outside. She hadn’t even had much privacy during her husband’s funeral four months earlier.
She’d known her new life as president of the United States would come with plenty of sacrifices, and she hadn’t minded making them. Ever since she was a little girl, she’d realized it was her destiny. Not so much because she had been groomed and raised in the political arena—her father had also represented Maine in the Senate—but because she sincerely wanted to make a difference. Her ideas for a better America would rub some the wrong way, but as with all new laws and initiatives, it was just a matter of time before the dust would settle and people came to accept the changes.
The elevator arrived and one of her guards stepped in to make sure it was secure. Exaggerated, she thought, but they, too, needed to follow protocol.
“Madam President.” He gestured for her to enter, and the remaining four men who surrounded her followed her inside. One pressed the button to the eighth floor, and they all stood solemnly staring at the floor indicator above the sliding door.
Elizabeth heard a noise right above her, and in an instant, two of her guards were at her side, hovering over her and shielding her with their bodies, while the other three pointed their guns at the ceiling.
“What’s happening?” was all she had time to ask before the lights went out and the sound of bullets surrounded her. Dull, almost distant reports—they were using silencers, she realized, as she was abruptly and roughly pushed to the ground, facedown. Her two nearest men covered her, their weight oppressive. Barely able to breathe, and unable to see what was happening, she felt her heart roar in her chest. Seconds later, in a momentary lull of the gunfire, she heard the sound of something heavy drop next to her.
“What’s going on?” she shouted, and squirmed under the weight of her guards, which had become increasingly unbearable. Dead weight, she realized with a panic. They weren’t moving at all.
The shooting stopped, but Elizabeth didn’t dare move. “Is it over?” she whispered. She was trembling, and her pulse boomed in her ears. No one answered, but she could hear heavy breathing, and suddenly the weight on her lessened and she could move a little. Thank God. At least some of her men were apparently okay, and she was still alive.
Then the weight crushing her was gone entirely, but it was still pitch-black in the elevator. Still too shaky and out of breath to get up, she rolled over onto her back. Immediately, a bright beam of light pointed directly in her face blinded her.
“Be quiet, and lie still,” a voice behind the light commanded, and Elizabeth was surprised to realize it was a woman’s voice. Her heart began to beat even faster.
The figure was hovering over her. Elizabeth tried to push her away, but the woman pinned her down roughly.
“Help!” she shouted, but the assailant quickly covered her mouth.
“I said, be quiet, or I’ll shoot you right now.”
Elizabeth froze and let herself be pulled up. The beam of light shifted as she rose, allowing her to see more clearly. Though she still couldn’t make out the woman’s identity—she was dressed all in black and wore a ski mask—she could see that all five of her guards were dead, each of them shot in the head.
She glanced up to where the initial sound had originated and saw that a metal ceiling tile was missing. The masked woman immediately blindfolded and gagged her, then tied some kind of harness around her.
Elizabeth wanted to kick, punch, try to scream through the gag for help, but she was afraid she’d end up on the pile of dead bodies. The woman bound her hands and feet, and removed her wedding ring. Seconds later, she was being lifted. She could do nothing to stop it; it was impossible for her to move much at all.
“Go,” she heard a man say as she was being pulled up.
“Jesus, are they dead?” a female voice replied.
*
Ryden had never imagined any operation could happen this fast and be this well organized. One guy had deactivated the elevator and lights, while another two individuals were lowered down the shaft with a wire. They had shot the Secret Service agents through the roof of the elevator, with the help of devices attached to their heads. She assumed they were some kind of infrared or other high-tech gadgets that helped them see their targets through the elevator ceiling, like she’d seen in spy movies.
Seconds later, she was lowered down the shaft herself in a harness and came face-to-face with the gagged and bound president of the U.S. going up. They were wearing identical clothes. The masked woman who was waiting in the elevator positioned Ryden on the floor and gave her the president’s wedding ring to put on. Ryden thought she would lose her lunch at the sight of dead men scattered on the floor. No one had said anything about people being killed. After tossing Thomas’s purse beside Ryden, the masked woman shoved the bodies of two of the dead agents over her and disappeared back through the hole in the ceiling.
The time elapsed between the start of the attack and when the elevator began moving again, this time with Ryden in it, was only about a minute. Had the Secret Service agents not been wired, no one would have known something was wrong.
Ryden heard the panicked shouts and screams as the elevator slowed, then stopped. She closed her eyes and crossed her fingers. Please give me the strength to do this. The rustling of people on the other side of the door told her the show was about to begin. She opened her eyes and began to struggle as it slid open.
A voice shouted, “Clear!” and the bodies of the dead agents were being lifted off her. Soon after, another voice shouted, “She’s alive! The president’s alive!”
Chapter Six
Bibbona, Italy
Next day, February 25
Harper Kennedy lifted her glass of red wine in a toast. “See you on the other side, buddy.” She rested the shovel against a tree by the grave and took a sip, swallowing hard as she realized another decade had gone by. Angelo had been her second companion since she’d moved to Italy, but he was not the first dog to bear that name.
Harper had inherited the vineyard she loved, together with her first dog, from Pepo, short for Giuseppe. Pepo couldn’t imagine the vineyard or his life without his Weimaraner. He’d started the winery in 1953, when Angelo the first was just a pup. Pepo came to love that adopted stray so much he’d labeled the wine after him: Il Grigio Angelo, The Gray Angel.
When she had first come to Italy on assignment with the EOO thirteen years earlier, Harper had never imagined she’d find not only a home but also a job she loved. She’d run into Pepo, already nearly eighty, at the local village café. They had started out talking about every Italian’s favorite topic and one Harper could relate to—politics—but the chat soon turned more personal. Ordinarily, Harper hated polite conversation and never volunteered much, but she surprised herself by opening up to Pepo about her hopes and dreams. She told him about her love for the country and how she never wanted to leave but had to find a job. It took but a few hours for them to become friends, and soon Harper moved into a small cottage he’d built next to his farmhouse. His only request was that she help out around his vineyard.
Before long, she couldn’t fathom her life away from Tuscany or grapes. The work thrilled her and gave her a satisfaction nothing and no one ever had. When Pepo passed away and left her his sixty acres, she relished the challenge of making it her own and within five years had taken the vineyard to another level. She’d found investors who believed in her vision and the wine, and with the funds she expanded the vineyard and improved the earth, flavor, bottles, and label. She poured money into marketing and distribution, and soon she had taken Pepo’s popular local wine and turned it into an internationally renowned label now going for almost one hundred euros a bottle.