“So she can be used against me by your employers,” Arensky spat. He started to take off his coat but refrained; the room was colder, it seemed, than the out-of-doors. Much colder than the stuffy van.
“My contractors, yes,” the man said.
“Sergei, this is madness,” Arensky said, again, with desperate resignation. “What is in there… ” he added, pointing to the case, “that is death as you cannot possibly imagine. If that gets out, if these Islamic black-asses use it, it is the end of the world. Not only their enemies will die, you will die, everyone you know will die. The fucking world will die.”
“Everyone dies,” Sergei said, standing up from the chair. “Everyone dies eventually. Societies die. Species die. The weak make way for the fit. If it is mankind’s time to die, then die it will. Besides,” he added with a grin, “I’ve been innoculated. And so have all of my men.”
“They won’t work with this,” Arensky said, slumping into one of the chairs. “Nothing will. And it lingers.”
“For what I am being paid for this job, I can retire to a remote island staffed entirely by willing women,” Sergei replied, shrugging. “I can restart the human race single-handed. Every man’s fantasy, yes? Gregor will see to your needs,” he added as the morose guard entered the room. “And in time, if you’re very good, you can hear that your daughter is well.”
“Madness.”
Mike had to admit that he was ready to get out of Georgia. He enjoyed the various perks of being “Kildar” but he also missed modern civilization. He’d been “deployed”, as he thought of it, for over a year. It was time to get back to the World.
But as he considered the traffic outside the window he had to admit there were more benefits to being in Georgia than he’d remembered. Tblisi could get some traffic jams, but nothing like DC. And he was going to have to put up with all that protocolish bullshit and probably ritual dickbeating.
The car had been waiting for them at the airport, a discreet government luxury four-door, like a thousand others in the city. A “ride-along” had met them at the exit from security, handled the bags and whisked them to the car.
There wasn’t anything they could do about the traffic, though.
“Anastasia, honey,” Mike said, looking at his watch. “I’m running on short time. I’ve got a meeting at the Pentagon in about an hour. Given the traffic… ”
“Should you go directly there?” Anastasia asked. “I will be fine.”
Mike suspected that was true. A person doesn’t get dropped off at the White House and then just get left. Somebody would make sure she went where she was supposed to. If she looked as if she was wandering, at the very least the Secret Service was going to step in. But that was the last thing he wanted to happen.
“No, I’m going to the House,” Mike said. “I’ll make sure you’re settled. But I’m going to have to do that as quickly as possible and then scoot.”
He knocked on the divider, not knowing quite which control worked it, then leaned over the seats.
“Okay, I need some cards laid down,” Mike said. “Secret Service or just drivers?”
“DOD secure transport,” the rider said.
Fuck. Mike wasn’t sure what that meant.
“I know diddly about your group,” Mike said. “But I’ve got a problem and it’s a secure issue… ”
“Your cover is Mr. Michael Ford,” the rider said. “A businessman currently working a start-up business in Georgia and a former fundraiser for President Cliff. Also a personal friend from long back, something about baseball.” He reached back and handed Mike a folder. “I was wondering when you were going to ask.”
Mike flipped through the documents and nodded.
“Thanks,” he said. “My brief on this was lousy.”
“You’re welcome, Mr. Ford,” the rider said. “We’re going to be driving you to your next destination. Given the traffic you’re on short time for the meet at the White House. I’ll ensure that Miss Rakovich has an escort but I’d suggest that you cut any conversation at the House as short as possible. And for your general comfort level, I’m former CAG, the driver is a Green Beanie and from your utter cluelessness and tan I’d say either SEAL or Recon.”
“Glad to finally be back in the warm,” Mike said, chuckling as the divider went back up.
They rolled up to a side entrance to the White House and the rider got out to open Mike’s door.
“Your luggage will be taken care of Mr. Ford,” the former Delta said. “You’ve just got time to shower and change if you need to.”
“Love to,” Mike said. “Even a Gulfstream gets kinda rank after a twenty hour flight.”
Mike took Anastasia’s arm and led her to the door where he was greeted by an aide and two uniformed Secret Service. He did the ritual dump of keys and spare change then walked through the scanner followed by Anastasia. He’d left all his knives and guns behind, much to his chagrin.
The aide nodded to them as soon as they were through the security screen.
“Mr. Ford,” the man said, smiling and shaking Mike’s hand. “Miss Rakovich? I’m Thomas Johnson. I understand you are in a hurry so I’ll show you to your rooms. I’m aware that Mr. Ford has a priority meeting but the First Lady would like to talk to you for a moment before you leave.”
“Of course,” Mike said. “I’d love a shower, though.”
“Not a problem, sir,” the man said. “We installed plumbing back in the early 1900s.”
Mike was surprised at the size of the room. He’d only ever stayed in Camp David which was cramped enough but this room wasn’t much bigger than one of the harem girls’ rooms at the caravanserai.
But then he had to think that the White House was built back in the days when large rooms weren’t made unless they were ballrooms. In summer, big rooms were not much cooler than small and in winter they were impossible to heat. Ballrooms were kept warm in the “season” as much by dancing bodies as by the roaring fires.
The service, though, was first rate. Somehow, the White House staff had managed to get their bags up to their room, unpacked, everything put in drawers or hung up and toiletries in the bathroom, before they’d gotten to the room. And probably every bit of it had been swept by the Service for threats.
“Honey,” Mike said, shaking his head, “you need to be taking notes.”
“I am,” Anastasia said, clearly just as impressed. “I wonder if I can hire anyone away.”
“I’m getting in the shower,” Mike said, stripping off the clothes he’d been wearing since yesterday.
“I’ll do your back if you’ll do mine,” Anastasia said, unzipping her dress.
“I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” Mike said. “But what the hell. Pierson can wait.”
“It’s not Colonel Pierson I’m worried about,” Anastasia said. “You’re supposed to mee the First Lady.”
“We are going to meet the First Lady,” Mike said. “So do your makeup fast.”
The shower had, alas, involved a minimum of grab-ass and Anastasia could dress and put on makeup fast when she had to.
So in no more than thirty minutes they were back out of their room, Mike in a suit and carrying a briefcase while Anastasia had changed into a different dress, this one a light blonde color just a shade darker than her hair.