Shadow of Eden (59 page)

“Hello, gentlemen. I’m Aaron Davenport, Chief of the Presidential Security Detail. The President has temporarily left the White House.”

“When will he be back?” Steve asked, puzzled. He had thought they would be shown right in to see the President.

Davenport smiled the smile of a man who dealt with uncertainties. “Soon.”

D’Agostino scanned the tall ash and pine trees and the bushes and dense shrubbery of Rock Creek Park that lined both sides of the road looking for any suspicious activity. Sitting in the back seat restricted his field of view and exposed the President to sniper fire through the windshield. The overgrowth could easily harbor someone unseen until too late. The whole situation was at once ludicrous and aggravating.

Wesley slowed down almost to a stop behind a slow moving street sweeper. He drummed his fingers impatiently on the steering wheel.

“Can’t you pass him?” the President asked.

“I can’t see past him well enough, sir. Sorry.” He did not see the series of twitches that began to shake the right side of the Presidents cheek. Neither did D’Agostino.

The President suddenly flung open his door and leaped out of the car, plunging into the dense vegetation of the park. D’Agostino, caught off guard, tried to open the car door, but it was locked. He slammed his shoulder painfully against it, but it still wouldn’t open. Frantically, he pressed the door unlock button without any effect. Then he figured out why.

“Wesley! The child door lock! Unlock me!”

“Jesus!” Wes exclaimed, fumbling for the automatic door lock control.

“Wes!”

“Got it!”

D’Agostino burst from the car in a dead run towards the woods. “Mr. President!” he shouted, but the street cleaner’s diesel engine and its brushes scraping the pavement made it almost impossible to hear anything. He neither saw nor heard any sign of the President. In mounting alarm, he scrambled through some brush and listened again. “Mr. President!” Where was he? He whirled around trying to penetrate the dark with his eyes. Still nothing.

He ran in the direction he thought the President had gone, pushing and shoving through the thick underbrush, making a tremendous racket. He stopped again to listen. Still, no sound of a person. D’Agostino tore through the vegetation onto a dark mown area, crisscrossed by sidewalks and gravel paths. There was no sign of the President, no footsteps, and no sound. Which way had he gone?

Oh my God,
he thought as the reality crashed down on him.
I’ve lost the President.

Chapter 130

“B
ase, Foxhound is ESO. Repeat, Foxhound is ESO.” Steve could hear the sound of a radio through the door to the control room.

At that moment, the door opened as an agent walked out past Steve. Steve slid his foot against the door, preventing its closure.

“He ran into Rock Creek Park, and—” They could hear the voice on the radio more clearly now. “I’ve lost contact. Request RDF.”

A stunned silence gripped the room. He heard Agent Rhodes mutter, “Jesus, D.”

“Last known location,” the voice continued, “is Rock Creek Park and Mass. Avenue, approximately 4200 block. Do you have a transponder signal?”

All eyes stared at the display for a long moment before the dispatcher replied. “It’s on Mass Avenue, but it’s not moving. It’s in the car.”

“Okay, Grant, Tolleson,” Davenport shouted. “RDF, Rock Creek. Get going.”

Steve pressed against the wall as two agents barreled past at a full run yelling into their radios. Rhodes looked like he wanted to leave with his fellow agents. Davenport turned to him. “You go too. And,” he pointed at Steve, “take them with you.”

Rhodes strode out, his face ashen.

Steve held up his handcuffs. “Can’t you take these off?”

Rhodes pushed him toward the exit. “No time. Let’s go.” He led them at a trot into the White House foyer where several more dark suited men and women ran past. “Follow me,” Rhodes said.

“ESO? RDF?” Steve asked, jogging behind Rhodes.

“Basically get everyone onto the scene ASAP.”

A side door opened and two navy-suited men emerged, followed by a tired looking woman that Steve recognized as First Lady Elise Dixon. She spotted Dr. Green.

“Tom.” They stopped and she embraced him.

Dr. Green clasped her hands. “Elise, I’m so sorry.”

She wiped her tears with a tissue. “I wish there were some other way.”

“He’s not well, Elise.”

“I know. I just hope you can do something for him.” She hugged him again. “Go. You need to be out there when they find him.” She cast a questioning glance at Steve and his handcuffs as she walked past.

Chapter 131

M
allis and Doug, their forged press badges around their necks, mingled with the news crowds outside the White House. They had their earpiece radios tuned to the assigned Secret Service frequency. The radio, an unauthorized version of the one the Service carried, decoded the scrambled communication signals for them. Listening, Mallis wore a puzzled frown. Many of the Secret Service abbreviations and acronyms were different from the FBI and were unfamiliar to him.

He scanned the guardhouse and the White House beyond with his night vision binoculars. They were a special, classified model restricted to the military and intelligence agencies. Through them, he saw a convoy of dark government sedans pour out of the White House driveway and scream into the overcast morning, the faces of the occupants visible through the binoculars.

What was going on?

As he watched, several more cars sped out through the gate. He heard a reporter next to him talking about the President having left the White House. Why was that such a big deal? Then more Secret Service calls came in. They were arriving at Rock Creek Park and doing something, again, unintelligible because of their acronyms. Doug, listening to the same radio chatter looked at Mallis. “They’re looking for someone.”

“Who?” Mallis asked. “Can you tell?”

“Someone called Foxhound.”

“Foxhound?”

Doug’s eyes blazed as he figured it out. “It’s the President.”

Mallis’s mouth dropped. The President was missing in Rock Creek Park? Amazing.

Now where was Dr. James?

Another car pulled out of the White House driveway. Instinctively Mallis looked at it through his binoculars.
Yes!
Fanelli sat behind a driver, who, he guessed, was a Secret Service Agent. There were two unrecognizable people on the other side of the car. Probably, he concluded, Dr. James was one of them. “Gotcha, asshole.”

Chapter 132

T
he USS Eisenhower Battle Force commander, Admiral Julius Havelind and his Chief of Staff, Captain Clint Longly, stood outside on the admiral’s bridge and looked through their binoculars west towards China and the gathering dusk. It would be a clear evening, perfect for fighting.

“I don’t know why I still use these things,” Havelind muttered. “The Hawks will tell us long before we see anything.” Havelind knew it was the calm before the storm and his heart was heavy. He knew lots of blood would be spilled tonight, much of it American, and the pride of the US Navy, two carrier battle groups, was likely to sustain heavy damage or sink.

He had not felt this pessimistic since his original tour in Vietnam flying F-4’s. Then he had written his new wife every day certain the war would make her a widow. Since that time, he had trusted the government’s promises not to engage in any more unwinnable wars, either by not committing sufficient power to prevail or by staying out of them altogether. In his estimation, Iraq had violated the first premise and this violated both.

Throughout his career, from naval pilot, test pilot, through nuclear school, and his first deep-water naval command to battle group commander, he had trusted those promises, but now he was commanding an overmatched force facing a huge committed foe in their home territory.

Havelind was fully cognizant of the consequences of underestimating an enemy. The Roman army, the most feared and capable fighting force in the world in its time, engaged the Parthians on their own turf. They were crushed through a combination of poor planning, poor execution, and arrogance. The surviving Roman Strategoi, their generals, lived the remainder of their lives as slaves to the victorious Parthians—a foe the Romans never defeated. This China conflict looked like it would be a repeat of the lopsided Roman loss.

Captain Longly, the Naval aviator advisor assigned to Admiral Havelind looked at his watch. “Every aircraft will be aloft in another twenty minutes.” He paused. “We’re sitting fucking ducks here.”

“President’s orders, damn it.” Havelind raised his binoculars again. “Pray for a miraculous goddamn diplomatic breakthrough. That’s about the only thing that could possibly save our ass right now.”

Chapter 133

M
assachusetts Avenue adjacent to Rock Creek Park was deep with police and Agency cars, their lights flashing as Rhodes pulled up. Helicopters hovered overhead with searchlights piercing the cold morning air. Steve got out of the car feeling as though he was on a movie set. They followed Rhodes, who ducked under police barrier tape and joined a knot of agents looking over a flashlight-illuminated map on the hood of a car.