“Miss Franks?”
Frankie stepped forward from the doorway and into full view of the table of attendees when President Lopez said her name.
“As I said, the President — sorry, President Mitchell,” she corrected, “wants you to be fully involved in the investigation. As such, you will be the Secret Service’s representative on the task force. Please take a seat.”
A few grumbles echoed around the table, none of which President Lopez made any attempt to stop, making it abundantly clear that she herself disagreed with Frankie’s involvement. Bill, however, smiled warmly and gladly gave up his seat for her before leaving to resume his normal duties.
“So what do we know?” asked President Lopez.
To her right, the Deputy Director of the FBI, Paul Turner, stood up. A headshot of Nick Geller was displayed on the bank of screens that surrounded the room.
“This man,” he said, looking directly at Frankie, “Nick Geller, while receiving the National Intelligence Cross for services to the country, suddenly and without warning, produced a weapon, shot the President, and fled via the Truman balcony to the grounds below. From there, he made his escape under cover of a massive explosion that has all but demolished the West Wing of the White House.”
Hearing it out loud for the first time still did not make Frankie believe it was true. There had to be a catastrophic mistake.
“Run VT,” said Turner.
Any lingering suspicions of Nick’s innocence were instantly quashed. The video feed from the presentation of Nick’s medal played out before them. President Mitchell, smiling warmly, walked towards Nick, the medal in his hands ready to be placed over Nick’s head. Bill stood off to the side, relaxed in the presence of the President and a man who had proved to be beyond reproach. He was a man who had risked everything for his country. He was a hero.
Frankie gasped when Nick dropped his hand and in a flash produced a small pistol-like object. He fired it once directly at the President, who fell immediately to the floor. Nick dropped the pistol and ran for the balcony door. Bill rushed forward to assist the President, simultaneously drawing his gun. He managed one shot towards Nick as he desperately tried to stem the flow of blood from the President’s wound. Frankie rushed through the door, her gun drawn and was directed onto the balcony. That was the last scene before the screen went blank.
It was also the first time Frankie realized that the shot she had reacted to had not been Nick’s but Bill’s. Whatever weapon Nick had used had not only been undetectable to the scanners but it was silenced. It also put an end to any doubt about Nick’s guilt.
“Tell me more about this Geller guy,” prompted President Lopez.
“Up until 9:55 a.m., Madame President, I would have said he was the all American hero. A former Ranger and Delta Force soldier, he moved into the DIA’s Defense Clandestine Services where he’s been for a number of years as a specialist in the war on terror. Most recently he infiltrated and assassinated the recently appointed head of Al Qaeda.”
The murmurs around the table started as this revelation came to light. Geller’s assassination of the Al Qaeda leader had been a closely guarded secret and the reason for Geller’s private presentation ceremony by the President of the highest award to an intelligence officer: the National Intelligence Cross. Nick Geller had been about to join the ranks of very, very few elite. Along with his previous Medal of Honor, the National Intelligence Cross would have elevated him to the equivalent of a double Medal of Honor winner.
The President motioned for quiet, shaking her head in bemusement. “Do we have any idea how on earth…” she began but struggled to find the words to convey how bizarre the situation really was.
A few heads turned questioningly to Frankie, who didn’t look up, not wanting to engage with anyone on the inner mind of a man who up until a couple of hours ago she would have sworn she knew inside and out.
Before anyone could offer an opinion, the door swept open to reveal another entourage of suits. The Director of National Intelligence led the group and held up a DVD as though it were his invitation to crash the party.
“Madame Speaker,” he interrupted, before noting the very subtle but deliberate shake of Deputy Director Turner’s head. “My apologies, Madame President,” he corrected, “I think you will want to see this and I’m sure it will answer a few questions for you.” He handed the DVD to an aide on her left.
While the room waited for the DVD to be cued up, all eyes were on the TV screens displaying news broadcasts from the grounds of the White House. Buried deep in the ground, out of reach of every conceivable manmade weapon, there was no safer place for them to be.
“Don’t press play!” commanded the President. The sound in her voice conveyed the fear that all in the room shared.
Before she could say any more, the red phone in front of her began to ring. A direct link to the Pentagon and the military sat at her fingertips. She looked at the TV screen showing hermetically-sealed biohazard-suited soldiers surrounding the White House perimeter.
Frankie watched in horror as the newly pronounced and acting President of the United States listened, failing to hide her terror at whatever was being conveyed to her by the military chiefs. She slowly replaced the receiver and turned from the screens to her captive audience.
“Well, things just got a whole lot worse,” she said nervously. “It appears that we may all have been exposed to a highly contagious and deadly virus. It seems Mr Geller may not have failed to kill the President after all.”
Frankie began to shake; it was too much. Nick loved her, he hadn’t been faking it, couldn’t have been, but he knew she would be there. If he had exposed the White House to a deadly disease, he had inevitably exposed her too.
The President looked directly at Frankie. “Miss Franks?” she asked coldly.
Frankie shook her head, she had to pull herself together. “I don’t know…I feel fine, Madame President,” she said.
“That’s yet to be proved,” said the President. “They want to check you first, you’re potentially patient zero. Mr Geller may have used you as the delivery method.” The President paused, watching Frankie break down into floods of tears, before adding with little feeling. “Unwittingly, of course.”
Chapter 5
The Gulfstream G650 touched down and taxied the short distance to the small terminal building. The pilot looked again at the runway and winced; it was going to be very tight. He would have to do a rolling start, build up some speed on the apron before turning sharply onto the runway and continuing the takeoff. It was the only way with a full tank of fuel. The prince had insisted on filling up. He didn’t do refuels. The Leesburg officials wouldn’t like it but he doubted they’d ever grace their runway again. The G650 was the smallest of the prince’s planes and one he seldom used, certainly not for a transatlantic trip. With a fleet of private aircraft at his disposal, which included a Boeing 747 and an Airbus A380, it had been a surprising choice but the prince was not a man to be questioned, especially not at the exorbitant salaries he paid his staff. What the prince wanted, he got.
The prince, a great nephew of the king, was worth almost fifteen billion dollars and was one of the wealthier members of the Saudi royals. However, he was also one of their more visible and challenging members. His wealth had skyrocketed through the financial crisis. His father’s death, just prior to the economic crash in 2007, had left him an inheritance valued in the hundreds of millions, almost entirely in cash. The crisis had allowed him to leverage his cash strength to great advantage and resulted in his meteoric rise in wealth. With wealth came influence and with influence came power. It was a mantle the prince was happy to accept. Power suited him.