She nudged the person standing next to her. “My daughter’s over there,” she said, proudly. “She’s…”
And then she saw what he was carrying. She screamed aloud. “Look out,” she screamed, as the crowd recoiled. “He’s got a gun!”
Wilhelmina’s head snapped up as she heard the scream, too late. The first gunshot rang out, followed rapidly by two more. She turned to start pushing children to the ground, but something slammed into her back and sent her falling down to the ground. Her body hurt and she felt something choking her throat, almost as if she was going to be sick. It took her several minutes to realise that she’d been shot, just before something green and scaly hit the ground beside her. The alien had been shot!
And then she realised that the children, too, were being gunned down.
Danny was moving as soon as he heard the gunshots. The crowd was scattering, terrified for their lives. He cursed the shooter under his breath as he ran towards him, wondering why the Secret Service snipers hadn’t taken him down. The answer was obvious the minute he posed the question. There were too many people around the gunman… Danny’s eyes opened wide in horror as he saw the gunman for the first time. He was the man he’d allowed through, the man with Secret Service credentials…
“Put down your gun,” he bellowed.
The gunman didn’t seem to be aware of his presence. He was still shooting towards the kids. Danny didn’t hesitate; he fired as soon as he had a clear shot.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Washington DC
USA, Day 47
The President looked badly shaken, as well he might. Only a few hours had passed since the worst terrorist atrocity to take place on American soil since 9/11 — and one of the aliens had been killed. No one knew how the Snakes would react to losing one of their people, or what retribution they would demand for humanity’s failure to keep him alive. The United States had developed the bad attitude of allowing such failures to go unpunished, but the Snakes might take a different attitude. And they had the power to make all of humanity pay for the crime.
Seated behind the President, Toby kept his face under tight control. The terrorists — whoever they were — had accidentally pre-empted the plan to assassinate one of the aliens in Iran. Whatever happened would give the resistance a sneak preview of how the aliens would react, but if it was totally disastrous… there was no way to recall the covert team in Iran. A second alien was going to die, whatever happened… and Iran would get the blame. If the aliens were capable of discovering the truth, God alone knew how they’d react.
The Cabinet filed in, one by one. Security had been tightened ever since the Vice President had been assassinated, with several Cabinet members dispersed to other command posts in case of disaster. The new Vice President should have been with them, but she’d insisted on remaining in Washington to stay in touch with the aliens — and her followers. Toby knew that she was going to make political capital out of the disaster — if there was anything left of the United States after the aliens reacted to the event. He was mildly surprised that they hadn’t said anything yet, but reports coming in from the alien bases reported that they had been sealed. The aliens had recovered the body of their fallen representative. They knew what had happened.
“I think we can disperse with formalities,” the President said. His voice was weaker than Toby had expected, suggesting that he was reaching the end of his tether. Presidents were made or broken by how they reacted to crisis after crisis; they rarely had a chance to shape events for themselves. “What happened and why?”
All eyes turned to the Director of the FBI. With an alien involved, the FBI had automatically taken the lead in the investigation, something that Toby suspected relieved the other intelligence and counter-terrorist agencies. The Washington PD was cooperating, even though police forces tended to resent the feds muscling in on their turf. This was too important for any turf battles between uniformed politicians.
“The latest figures state that there were fifty-one fatalities at the scene, including one alien and twenty-two children,” the FBI Director said. He sounded tired; he’d been in New York when the attack had taken place and had had to fly to Washington. His subordinates would have briefed him extensively, but he wouldn’t have had a chance to see the raw data for himself. “One hundred and seventy people have moderate to severe injuries requiring hospital treatment. There may be others who are as yet unidentified.”
He took a breath. “The attack was filmed live; the entire country saw,” he added. “The terrorist apparently got through the security cordon at one of the weak points, apparently through the use of false ID. When he reached the crowd, he drew his gun and opened fire on the alien while using the crowd to shield himself from Secret Service snipers. A local police officer — the one who was fooled by the fake ID — shot him in the head. At that point, the bomb he was carrying on his person exploded with terrific force, accounting for many of the injuries and deaths. The emergency teams responded with commendable speed and doubtless saved a good many lives. Once they’d recovered their dead body, the aliens provided emergency help for our wounded. They probably saved lives too.”
“I think we can all be grateful for them,” the President said. “And that leaves one single question; who did this to us?”
The Director of the FBI hesitated. “We managed to pick out some traces of the killer’s DNA,” he said. “It was extremely difficult to be sure that we had the right person. Eventually, we had to go through the camera footage and run comparisons to be sure that we’d eliminated everyone we knew had been there at the scene — apart from the killer. The DNA was run through the national database and we found a match. He was once one of ours.”
Toby knew what he was going to say before he said it. “His name was Blake Coleman,” the FBI Director said. “He was once a former Marine.”
Blake Coleman would have said, Toby knew, that there was no such thing as a former Marine. A retired Marine, perhaps… but it hardly mattered. Coleman had been killed during the mission to save General Thomas from the aliens. No one knew what had happened to the body, until now. And he’d definitely been dead. Toby’s father wouldn’t have left a man behind unless he was dead — and he would have been reluctant to leave the body. What had the aliens done to the body? Had they reanimated it somehow and sent it out to kill?
“A former Marine,” McGreevy sneered. “I think we have to realise, right now, that those who resent our willingness to deal with the Galactic Federation have decided to take the offensive. Those filthy bastards killed children! They might even have embroiled us in war against an alien race of terrifying power. We need to crack down on them, hard.”
“We’re running through the files now,” the FBI Director said. “According to covert surveillance, Coleman was a member of several right-wing militia groups scattered through the United States. He was noted as a training officer for several of the groups, training them in military tactics they could use against the federal government. His pupils have been linked to reported thefts of military materials from various military bases and facilities.”