3 Thank God it's Monday (11 page)

“Where did they go?” Hallie asked as she squatted behind the
desk.

Jake looked up. The lab coat guy was shoving the suit guy. The
lab coat guy fell backwards, a spray of red coating the window at this back.

That was Beckworth
, he thought. 
No honor among
thieves. One down, one to go
.

The glass shattered and Jake heard the high pitch whine as
the ammunition passed by and made a clinking sound off of the concrete block
behind him.

What
is
that?
He wondered.

He stood up, bringing the G36 across in an arc, firing from
his hip. He grimaced as the wound in his shoulder screamed at him.  Jake
strafed the room for cover, hoping it scared Clarence enough to keep him down so
he could close the gap.

Jake rushed to the door. It was locked. He shot the lock
mechanism with a burst from his rifle. He spent his last shell in that magazine.
He let the rifle fall to his side and started to reach over his back for the
shotgun.

A bright white pain from his shoulder prevented him from
raising his arms over his head. He spat and pulled an FN-9 out of its holster
and a SOG tactical knife from a sheath on his leg.

He kicked out at the door and it collapsed.

He could see Clarence trying to reload whatever the contraption
was that he was holding. He struggled with it for a moment. Jake watched as
Clarence threw it to the ground and turned to grab someone from the floor.

It was Giselle. Her hair was wild and she looked drugged,
but it was her. His half-sister. He hesitated for a half second and then
barreled down the short hall. As he neared the door, he fired off three quick
rounds at the key code machine, frying it.

He turned his body to his good shoulder as he came, smashing
into the door with all his weight. It fell in, and he lost his balance, rolling
to the floor and then leaping up in one motion.

Clarence was pulling on the door with one hand and on
Giselle with the other.

Jake dashed up to him and brought the SOG around in a bright
arc. Jake was not the kind of guy that wasted time interrogating or engaging in
lengthy monologues.  The blade of his knife sliced through skin and arteries
and he felt it nick the spine as he brought it back across his body.

Blood rushed from Clarence’s neck.

He reached up instinctively to grab at the wound with his
hand. Blood poured over his white suit. He looked up at Jake with begging eyes.

“We aren’t untouchable, are we?” Clarence said with a
chuckle. Then he slumped forward and fell to the floor with a splat. Blood
quickly pooled around him.

Jake stood over him, panting. Giselle stood near the door
looking down on Clarence, her face without expression. She said nothing.

“Jake!” Hallie approached him, taking the FN-9 from his
hands.

He wrapped his arm around her and stared at Clarence. Behind
them in the next room, he could hear the death throes of George Beckworth,
owner. He choked and sputtered, groaned and cursed. Jake ignored him.

Hallie looked down at Clarence and cringed.

Gary came in then, his eyes wild.

“Giselle!” He exclaimed. He looked genuinely concerned. He
grabbed her hand and immediately began checking her pulse, looking at her
pupils, and testing her reflexes.

Hallie and Jake stood holding each other, catching their
breath.

“Do you expect more guards?”

“Probably. I don’t know. This place was pretty secret, but
surely they would hire more security.”

Hallie looked at him.

“Honey, let’s just leave. We’ve got Giselle. This place
won’t be the same without the owner, and Clarence is dead.”

Jake took a deep breath and looked around. Hallie was right.
They needed to escape to the Jeep. But what were they supposed to do next? Where
would they go?

“Gary?”

“Yeah.”

“Is she going to be alright?” Jake asked, indicating
Giselle.  He felt drained.  The chemicals were wearing off.  The loss of blood
was probably not helping either.  He held his hand pressed to his shoulder,
feeling the warm sticky mess there.

“Yeah. It is a cognitive stasis. I put her in it on purpose.
I can take her out. I just need a lab, some chemicals, and an ancient Russian
coin.”

“Russian coin?” Hallie asked.

Jake felt a tug of recognition. It was difficult to think
straight with so much pain. He felt dizzy.

Gary looked at him as if the answer should be plain.

“Yeah.
Aždaja
. You two are each heads of the dragon. It
is your mother’s family seal.”

A
ndronikus was furious. He wanted to crush something. His
staff was wise enough to stay at arm’s length. They could feel his black mood
like an incoming storm front.

Clarence was dead, he was sure of it. He did not dwell on
that loss much. He actually was more disappointed that Clarence had not had the
forethought to send Giselle on a plane before he had himself killed.

The worst part, though, was that it had become obvious to
him that the clandestine nature of the Consortium had been penetrated. A leak
existed somewhere or they had been overconfident and been exposed. Or someone
on the inside was pulling strings. Who in his brotherhood would do such a thing?

Andronikus had called off the other events immediately after
watching Eilif make his ridiculous charge. He shook his head. There would still
be time to enact their full plan. It would not do to have the United States
come to the rescue of a world reeling from a power vacuum. No, they would have
to suffer as well.  Otherwise they would fulfill the role of the compassionate
hero.  That would not serve.

He had underestimated President Vine. That the man had
survived two attempts at assassination was mind-boggling. He wanted to lay much
of that incompetence at the feet of Jake Monday, but he knew better. Jake was a
pawn.

No, it was Eilif who had failed him the most. And he could
not reach him. He was somewhere in the bowels of the Secret Service
Headquarters. Probably munching on pita chips and hummus, drinking scotch,
telling his little secrets.

The part that possibly bothered him the most was Eilif’s
motivation. He had run into the White House not to save the President, but to
make sure Jake did not fail. He had done it for Barbara Monday. The sheer
stupidity of that selfish vendetta had overcome his wits.

Andronikus snapped off the center television. He was tired
of watching the same regurgitated American media tripe. He glanced at the phone
again wondering if he should call an emergency meeting.

As of yet, the danger seemed remote. He was in the Alps. But,
a nagging sensation told him that it would only be a matter of time before
someone came calling. He refused to be concerned. They had hidden for years,
untouched and unhindered from their machinations. True power worked that way. Besides,
his best attribute was that he was stubborn.

He worked his jaw, cutting the cigar with his teeth as he
rolled it in his mouth, and thinking. He decided that what would make him feel
the best would be to implement Plan B. Not that he actually called it that—it
did not truly have a name.

He called Washington and spoke in monotones slowly until he
had the person he wanted. He did his best to mask his accent. His English was
flawless.

“It is your time to act now.”

“I was wondering when you would call on me.”

“Did you receive the package from our friends?”

“Yes, it is quite lovely. It will do in a pinch.”

“Well, this is a pinch. When can you do it?”

“I can check the schedule, but I am sure I can get it done
after dinner tonight.”

“Excellent.”

“Just watch the news.”

He stared at the blank screens in front of him. The room was
dark, only a faint aura from the neon blue running lights of the hall lit the
room.

“I am glued to the set, my dear. We are depending on you.”

“You should have entrusted in me sooner.”

He smiled.

“You are right, my sweet. I should have. I was just thinking
of your best interests.”

“I do not care anymore. Anything for Viveri.
Vi veri
veniversum vivus vici,”
she intoned.

“The power of truth unites us. Even in death.”

“Yes. This is true. You can count on me.”

“You are the only one that I can count on.”

“Thank you.”

“Thank you.”

She hung up. He sat back and placed the phone on the leather
couch beside him. He listened to the house around him and dozed off to sleep. He
knew he could rest assured. At least this one thing would be handled.

The third time is a charm
, he thought.

G
abriel took his dinner in the Oval office. The dining room
next door seemed to bustle with Service Agents. After his discussion with
Vivian, Gabriel was in a much better mood. He was confident that his strategies
would produce some fruit.  Gabriel had found that he was always encouraged by
good company.

Now, Harold joined him. Harold was angry with him but
refused to mention it.

“So what is nagging you, Mr. Loxley?” Gabriel prodded. He
brought a forkful of mashed red potatoes and asparagus to his mouth. His doctor
would be furious for the indulgence on the potatoes, but he could not resist
their buttery goodness. Besides, he was the President. He could eat potatoes if
it made him happy.

Harold sighed.

“For the third time, President Vine, I am fine.”

“Well, you don’t seem fine,” he said, a mocking smile on his
face. He sat the porcelain plate on the glass coffee table and picked up the
fine china tea cup.

He sipped the chamomile tea with lemon and honey and waited
for Harold to take the bait.

“Sir, I do not need to discuss my displeasure about these
events to you. That is beyond my job scope.”

“At your pay grade, nothing should be taboo, Harold.”

Harold looked away and parted his Chicken Kiev with a butter
knife. He did not make eye contact. He took a deep breath.

“You have been reckless, Mr. President.”

“See? That wasn’t so hard, was it? Tell me what I should
have done?”

“Trusted me.”

Gabriel sat back.

“I trust you, Harold. I also respect you. That is why I
allowed you to be in the dark about the truth.”

“What truth? I cannot do my job if I do not have all the
information, sir.” He seemed to warm up to being mad. His neck had turned
scarlet and his eyes were watering.

“I offered the truth to you in the form of a manila folder
that you refused to view. You would rather work in the realm of the status quo
than be exposed to the dark and ugly truth. I respect that. In some ways, I am
glad I did not have to ruin my reputation in your eyes.”

“Why do you care? Isn’t it more important to secure your
life? You should have ordered me to read that file. I would not have refused. I
was scared.”

Gabriel picked the plate back up and spooned another
mouthful of potatoes. The chicken was rubbery and bland. He needed to find a
better chef. This one was in league with his doctor, he suspected.

“I am scared, too, Harold,” he said, swallowing. “And I
value your friendship. That is why I allowed you to make the choice.”

Harold thought about that for a moment. He took a bite of
the chicken.

“Mmm. This is good,” he said, pointing at his Chicken Kiev
with his fork and nodding enthusiastically. “I need to get this recipe from
Chef Daniel.”

Gabriel looked at the chicken on Harold’s plate dubiously. It
seemed to have a small pool of olive oil surrounding it and more spices.

“Let me taste that,” he commanded, his fork headed for Harold’s
plate.

Harold intercepted his fork, his eyebrows arching. He shook
his head.

“Huh-unh. Doctor’s orders,” he teased.

Gabriel’s shoulders slumped.

“See? Harold, you are always looking after my well-being.”

He smiled proudly.

“Someone has to.”

They sat in silence for a while.

“So, is it too late to look at that file or am I just going
to have to hear it all from CNN?”

Gabriel chuckled and set down his plate.

“Probably more likely to hear it at the water cooler in the
Cabinet.”

Harold smiled at that.

“Or Capitol Hill.”

“Yeah, I hate those hypocrites,” Gabriel remarked. He got up
and crossed to the Resolute desk.

“You keep it in there?”

“Yeah, Kennedy didn’t have a monopoly on this desk’s
secrets, my friend.”

“I remember that photo of him as a child. That was pretty
famous.”

“Yes. I remember that. Let’s see, I put it in this drawer...”

Just as he pulled the file out, Sally chimed in.

“Mr. President?”

“Yes, Sally?”

“The First Lady would like to join you.”

“Of course. Tell her if it is alright with her, she can
order an extra dessert for me.”

He could tell Sally was smiling when she answered.

“You have had enough attempts on your life lately, sir. I
will let her in immediately.”

“Thank you, Sally.” He looked up at Harold and smiled.
Harold returned it and stood in anticipation for the First Lady’s entry.

The outer door opened and Catherine entered. She wore a
crème dress that hugged her figure. Her blonde hair was swept to the side in
the style of a sixties scarlet. She was the envy of Washington elite.

She held her plate in one hand and pulled the door shut with
her foot. Her smile was lewd. She winked at him with a familiarity of a couple
that might actually be happily married.

“Thought I would join you. Do you mind? We haven’t seen each
other much lately.”

He crossed in front of the desk, laying the file on top.

He hugged her close and leaned back for a kiss.

“I am so glad you are alright,” she said huskily. She
blinked rapidly. He smiled awkwardly.

“Well, it is nice of you to join us, hon,” he said.

She looked startled. She turned.

“Oh. Harold. I did not see you there. Please forgive me. I
have so little time with Gabriel lately.”

Harold looked slightly embarrassed. He coughed.

“It is fine, ma’am. I understand,” he said as he stood.

“You don’t have to leave on my account,” Catherine pouted.

“Don’t worry. Harold and I will be meeting tonight with the
Joint Chiefs. Long night ahead. Come back in an hour or so, Harold. We can pick
up where we left off.”

“Yes sir. I will be just down the hall,” he explained. Gabriel
watched him as he left.

Catherine passed him and sat down on the edge of the
Resolute desk, her ankles crossed, her plate held in one hand, her fork in the
other.

“Hungry? Come here Gabriel and I will feed you,” she said
sulkily.

He sighed.

“We need to talk, Catherine.”

“I like pillow talk. We do so little of it lately. Come up
to our room and we can end this evening in each other’s arms.”

He shook his head.

“I have a duty to do.”

“You are right. You have a duty to satisfy your wife,” she
said with a teasing smile.

He smacked his lips, not knowing what to say. Sometimes
Catherine was like this. He had found it endearing most times. Her timing was
not always convenient.

She put the plate down on the desk. When she turned, she
noted the file.

“What’s this?” She asked. She flipped it open.

“Nothing,” he barked, reaching for the folder. “Something
Harold and I were discussing,” he blurted.

She arched her eyebrows as he snapped it from her hands.

He put it behind his back as she hopped down from the desk and
pressed her body against his.

“You keep a lot secrets, Mr. President,” she said.

Her eyes were rimmed with red. She had been crying.

“I have to, dear. Even from you,” he said, taking a step
backward.

She shook her head.

“Not anymore,” she said.

He saw the pistol in her hand too late. At first, his mind
was reminded of the toy guns he bought for Jake when he was kid. Little black
pistols that shot yellow foam pellets. The gun in his wife’s hand was shiny
like that. Plastic.

Then he heard the report and saw the flash from the barrel. He
felt something rip into his chest, then his arm, then his neck. Bang, bang,
bang.

Those yellow foam pellets hurt, but nothing like this
,
he thought. He dropped the folder to the carpet.

He looked at his wife. Catherine’s mouth was pulled back, a
rictus of glee and triumph. He reached up and felt the blood on his shirt. Gabriel
stared at the blood on his hand.

The blood of a President
, he thought.
The blood of
a hypocrite
. He could faintly hear someone shouting outside the Oval Office
door.

Catherine was crying and laughing. She pulled the trigger
once more and he fell to his knees. His legs could not support him anymore. He
blinked. He thought he heard Catherine scream, “
Vi veri veniversum vivus
vici
!”

He could not tell, though. The door opened and men poured
in, guns at the ready, eyes wide in disbelief.

His last thought was:
I was right. Gabriel Scott Vine, 46
^th
President, would not live to see the 47
^th
President take office.
And, I will never see my son again.

THE
END

LOOK
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