A Necessary Kill (31 page)

“Okay,” says the first guard. “Drive through to the second checkpoint. Head right up ahead, and make sure you keep to the right of the drive. You’ll be issued with passes giving you the required security clearance.”

“No problem,” replies Oscar, calmly. “Thanks, guys.”

“Just do what you have to do, alright? Today isn’t the day to be racking up your overtime.”

Oscar chuckles. “Overtime? We should be so lucky!”

There are a few seconds of awkward silence…

“Yeah, I hear that, man,” says the guard. “Go on through.”

“Thanks, my friend.”

Oscar restarts the engine as the gates squeak and grind open. We drive through and I look over my shoulder again to stare ahead through the windshield. The driveway up ahead splits. Left would take us in a wide, shallow semicircle along the north lawn, and eventually lead us back to the street. We head right, toward the second checkpoint and the entrance to the West Wing.

Another guard appears, walking toward the van with his hand held up. Oscar slows to a stop, and the guard heads to the driver’s door.

“Tyger Security?” he asks.

“That’s us.”

“Just pull in on the left. We need to check the vehicle before we can issue your badges.”

“No problem.”

Oscar moves forward, turns a moment later, once again killing the engine.

This is the part I’ve been dreading. The fake floor is the only thing they could find, and if they do, it’s game over before the opening bell sounds. I just hope they don’t make us get out of the van…

“You okay?” Ruby whispers next to me.

“Yeah, just nervous—I want my plan to work.”

She pats my hand with hers. “We’ll be fine.”

Everything goes quiet outside. We’re far enough into the White House grounds that the noise from the street is less audible. I hear Jonas shifting in his seat. Oscar is drumming his fingers on the wheel.

I wish I could see what’s happening… I hate flying blind like this.

“You’re good,” says the guard through the open window. “Drive past the checkpoint and pull in anywhere on the right. Your passes are being printed, and you can pick them up when you enter the building.”

“Thanks,” replies Oscar.

He reverses, then drives on and turns right again a moment later. As soon as he turns the engine off, I climb out of the back and stretch, cracking my neck and shoulders.

I take a brief look around, familiarizing myself with the surroundings and layout. There are two rows of parking spaces, one running along each side of the drive. We’re on the right, nose in. A wall easily eight feet tall, partially obscured by bushes and greenery, runs along the perimeter in front of us, separating us from West Executive Avenue.

On the other side, the White House looms over us, lit from beneath by floodlights. It’s a remarkable building, you can’t deny it. Like the name suggests, it’s a brilliant white brick, which seems to shine, even at night. All the windows are bulletproof. I can’t see any from where I’m standing, but I know there’s a team of Secret Service snipers on the roof—all of whom will be a damn good shot.

Basically, if we try leaving here in any way other than normal, we’ve got no chance…

We gather at the rear doors of the van. I pass Oscar the tool bag and then lift up the floor panels, revealing the other bag and the pile of weapons. Jonas grabs his bag without needing to be asked.

“Everyone get your ID badges visible,” I say. “Clip them to your pockets or something. We’ll be getting our security access once we’re inside, and from there we need to head straight for the maintenance room so Jonas can do his thing. We need to move like we belong, understand? This is our job, this is who we are… no need to feel out of place or self-conscious.”

“There are gonna be security cameras everywhere in there,” says Ruby. “Shouldn’t we have baseball caps on or something?”

I shake my head. “Looks too conspicuous. That’s why we got the strategic makeovers. A normal team of security experts wouldn’t wear a cap inside, so why should we? We’ll be visible, but thanks to Veronica we look different enough that people won’t look twice at us. Worst case is they have facial recognition software running on their security system, but even then, it would take a lot longer to determine who we really are based on how we look now. It’ll be fine… we just have to play it cool.”

I look at each member of the team in turn. Oscar and Jonas are holding their respective bags and look impatient, like they just want to get it over with. Ruby looks different. She seems impatient as well, but her eyes are sparkling, alive with the rush and thrill of a job. Instinctively, I pat myself down to make sure everything I need is in the right pocket, then I fold the fake floor back into place and slam the rear doors.

“Here we go…

I start walking toward the main doors, hearing the footsteps of my team behind me. We stride confidently into the lobby. Inside is immaculate and wonderfully designed. The floor is a dark marble, complemented by mahogany highlights and accessories, where appropriate. In the corners are pillars that stretch to the ceiling. I think they’re more for decoration than necessity. There’s a half-moon desk with a gateway scanner beside it in the middle of the large entrance hall. Three guards are behind the counter. I step to the side to allow Oscar through first.

“Tyger Security,” he announces as he approaches the desk.

The man behind the desk is Caucasian, probably late forties. Judging by what I can see of his torso—his shoulders and chest—I suspect his stomach is preventing him from seeing his shoes. His muscles seem to sag inside his uniform.

He glances down, then back at Oscar. “Four of you?” He points to the scanner. “Place your bags on the side and step through.”

We move to the left and form a line in front of the metal detector. Another low counter runs along one side of the central desk, with the scanner level with it, roughly halfway along. Oscar places the tool bag down carefully, along with his ID badge. He walks through the scanner, which remains silent, and collects his things on the other side.

Ruby’s next up. She places her badge on the counter and steps forward. The machine beeps loudly, and all three guards stare at her. She steps back, slowly, passing through the scanner again.

The first guard looks at her. “Can you remove any metallic objects on your person please, ma’am?”

She shrugs. “I have.”

Another guard moves around the desk and walks toward her holding a wand scanner. He’s much younger than the first—younger than me, certainly. He seems in good shape and moves with confidence.

“Place your arms out to the sides,” he says to her.

She does, and he moves the wand thoroughly and efficiently over her body. It beeps as he moves it over her crotch. He looks at her questioningly.

Ruby chuckles nervously, which I’m sure is part of the act, as opposed to actual nerves. “Heh… well,
this
is embarrassing.”

“Ma’am, I’m gonna need you to—”

“I… can’t. It’s a piercing. It’s not coming out, I’m sorry.”

The guard flicks a quick glance at his colleague, who nods. He finishes his scan of Ruby and stands up straight. “Okay, go on through.”

Ruby nods and walks through again. The machine beeps, but the guard behind the desk does something to override it. She collects her ID and waits beside Oscar on the other side.

Jonas steps forward and heaves the large bag onto the counter. The equipment inside will likely show up, but it’s been designed not to look like what it is. To the casual observer, it looks like a couple of aerosol canisters in a box, which isn’t uncommon for a security team to have. Could be WD-40 or compressed air for cleaning the inside of server cabinets.

Or a nitrous oxide dispersal unit for knocking out everyone in the White House…

He moves through the scanner with no problems, retrieves the bag and his ID, and stands with the others.

I’m last up to bat. I take a deep, discreet breath and step toward the scanner, placing my ID on the side. I move through.

The scanner beeps loudly.

Shit…

I look innocently at the guards, who urge me back through. The guy with the wand walks back around the desk and meets me.

“Arms out to the sides,” he says.

I comply, and he searches me with the same level of thoroughness and efficiency as he had Ruby. The wand remains silent.

I smile. “No piercings on me.”

He regards me with a very impassive look and stands up straight. He nods toward the scanner. I take the hint and walk through it a second time.

It sounds off again.

Are you fucking kidding me…?

I sigh and step backward through it, glancing at the guards impatiently.

“Sir, do you have any metallic objects on, or in, your person?” asks the first guard.

I look him up and down. From this angle, I can see more of him, as the side counter is much lower than the front of the desk. I was right—he
is
a fat bastard…

I shake my head. “I’ve got nothing. You just gave me the wand to prove it.”

The guard frowns, turns to his computer terminal, and presses a few buttons.

“Try again,” he says to me.

I roll my eyes and step through the scanner for the third time.

Silence.

Phew!

I retrieve my ID and nod to the guards. “Thanks, guys.”

I join the others, and we walk across the rest of the lobby and head left at the end, into the West Wing.

The corridor is wide with curved arches at even intervals along the ceiling and a bright red carpet with gold trim along both edges. The walls are off-white, plastered to a smooth finish, and adorned with works of art—some landscapes, some portraits of former presidents and notable politicians. To the right of every doorway is a marine standing at attention in full uniform, armed with a standard issue Glock 19. I’m pretty sure there’s normally just one in the West Wing, but, given the world is at war I’m guessing they’ve stepped up security.

We’re walking two by two with Oscar and Ruby in front. We pass a thick wooden door on the left. I casually glance inside through the glass and see a large mahogany table with people sitting around it and military officers standing around the edges of the room.

Wonder what they’re discussing—North Korea or me?

I pat Oscar on the shoulder, and he glances around. “Should be up here on the right. Play the part.”

We stop in front of another marine outside a door that says MAINTENANCE on a small black sign. Josh kindly sent me a floor plan of the building—just a general one you can find on the Internet—so I have a rough idea of where we’re going.

We all turn to face one another. “Okay,” says Oscar, loud enough to be heard. “We’ll do a preliminary check of equipment in here—ventilation, alarms, the works. We’re looking for any potential breaches, as well as opportunities for breaches. We fix what we need to and log it for the guys back at the office. Then,” he points at Jonas and me, “you two head over to the server room, install what patches you need to. We work fast and thorough. Questions?”

Beautiful. Oscar’s a natural!

We all shake our heads.

Oscar looks at the marine outside the door. “Excuse me, buddy? We’re about to test the equipment in here. Do we need to tell anyone if we’re testing the alarms? I don’t want them to go off and everyone panic.” He chuckles. “Probably not the time for that, am I right?”

The marine glances up and down the corridor as if he’s checking before he responds because he’s not allowed to. “Yeah, you need to let the Secret Service Agent-in-Charge know,” he says.

Oscar nods. “Okay, we’ll do the alarms last. Thanks.”

He opens the door and walks inside without another word. We all follow, and I close the door behind me.

The room isn’t huge, but there’s enough space for us to stand comfortably. The floor is plain white tiling, and the walls are gray cinder block. There’s a large unit on the left, standing easily seven feet high, with a large silver cylinder sticking out the top running into the ceiling.

“This is it,” says Jonas, quietly. “Gimme some room to work.”

We step back, and he moves next to the unit and opens the main hatch on the front. Inside is a network of wires and pipes, but he assesses them with a professional eye. You would think he was an electrician, not an assassin.

He unzips the sport bag, lifts the dispersal unit out carefully, and sets it down at his feet. He crouches in front of the open hatch.

“Hand me a screwdriver, would you?” he calls over his shoulder.

Oscar rummages inside the tool bag and hands one to him, and Jonas promptly sets to work attaching the gas canisters to the ventilation system.

Beside me, Ruby is taking some deep breaths. She sounds like she’s giving birth.

“You okay?” I ask her.

She nods quickly. “Calm before the storm. Just getting myself ready.”

“Well, try not to pass out beforehand.”

She pulls a face and we continue watching Jonas do his thing. He’s very technical. I knew he specialized in poisons, which I’ve always considered a very niche part of our business, but his knowledge clearly stretches beyond that.

He connects the dispersal unit and attaches the wires to the ventilation pipes. Then he starts pressing buttons on the small console, presumably configuring it. After a minute or so, he stands and briefly stretches his arms and legs.

“Okay, we’re good.”

He bends down, takes out the gas masks, and hands them to each of us. I place mine over my head and adjust the straps and clasps at the back. It covers my entire face, though my field of vision is pretty wide. Attached to the bottom is a thick, round filter, maybe three inches in diameter.

I look around the room getting used to the feel and the weight.

Jonas moves toward me and hands me the remote. “All yours, Adrian. When you activate it, it should take no more than two or three minutes for the nitrous oxide to vent out. Allow maybe another minute as a safety net to make sure everyone’s dropped off, and a final minute for it to clear enough that we can remove the masks.”

I take it and nod, trying not to laugh at the fact he sounds like Darth Vader when he talks with his mask on. “Thanks.”