"Wonder what?" she asked.
"You mentioned that Transcorp doesn't have any wind or solar farms on record."
"Correct."
"I'm assuming they don't own any hydroelectric stations either."
"Usually, assuming isn't the way to go. We both know why, but that is also correct. They don't own any of those."
"That brings me back to what I was thinking. Is it possible that they're producing their power from something underground, possibly a geothermal station of some kind?"
For a brief moment, Adriana didn't answer. Sean didn't expect her to right away. He knew that sort of thing wasn't her area of expertise.
"I suppose it's possible," she said, finally. "They'd have to run power lines, though. And those lines would have to traverse thousands of miles to get power to the lower forty-eight states."
"They built an oil pipeline that does that. Running some cables would be easier."
"Good point," she said. "You want me to have someone look into that?"
"The power lines? No. I have a feeling they probably kept that under wraps as well. It's also a good bet the lines are underground."
Another concern came to Sean's mind. "Does Dawkins know about Foster?"
"I'm on my way back to Washington to warn him."
"You didn't call?"
"He's in a secure bunker right now, but he's scheduled to make an appearance tomorrow. All the phone lines going into the White House are jammed. I have to warn him myself."
He continued staring out the windshield at the river. A little single-prop airplane bounced in the air several miles away. It almost didn't look like it was moving.
It sounded like Adriana had thought everything through. With Emily working with her, they'd have all the angles covered. Now he needed them to cover one more.
"I need you to ask Emily for a favor," he said.
"And that is?"
"See if she can get a plane for us. Nothing fancy. In fact, the less fancy, the better. We need something that can make it across the country with minimal stops, and we need it at the smallest airport near Clinton, Maryland you can find."
"Clinton? Is that where you guys are?"
"We're close to there, yes. Can you do that for me?"
"Yep. I'll tell her right now. I have to go. Anything else?"
"No," Sean shook his head. A thin smile stretched across his mouth. "Thank you."
"You're welcome. Thank you, too."
"For what?"
"I'll think of something."
They ended the call, and Sean realized his friend was staring at him. He suddenly became uncomfortable.
"What?" Sean asked.
"You gonna share that intimate moment with me or just the information she gave you about Foster?" Tommy said with a devilish smirk.
"Funny guy. I assume you heard me ask for the plane, right?"
"I did," Tommy said with a nod. "She gonna text or call when they know more about that? Or are you just assuming on that one, too? Seems like you're doing a lot of assuming."
"You're on a roll. You know that?" Sean asked as he shifted the car into reverse and started backing out of the lot.
Tommy shrugged. "Just making an observation."
"She'll let me know soon."
"Great. So, where we going?"
"Right now, we're going to keep moving. The longer we sit still, the easier targets we become. Need to stay on the move."
"I meant, where are we going on the plane?" Tommy corrected.
Sean steered the car back onto the road and glanced into the rearview mirror. Traffic was still heavy coming back from Washington. Soon it would be dark. The sun was already half behind the distant horizon.
"Anchorage," Sean said.
"I thought you'd say that. You know we're going to need a good bit of cold weather gear if we're going up there, especially if we're heading out to Denali. Not to mention we might need some tools."
"We'll sort out the cold weather gear when we get there. As to the tools...I have a strange feeling we're not venturing into an undiscovered place."
30
Clinton
Porter watched Sean and Tommy through a pair of powerful binoculars. His driver stood outside the car, watching carefully behind some shrubs and small trees that lined the highway.
Porter's two men were in the back, waiting quietly.
They'd met their contact on the outskirts of Clinton and left their car in an empty church lot. The driver, a man by the name of Steve, was apparently running the show for their mutual employer.
Even though he thought it reckless to get out of the car or even to park as close as they were to their marks, Porter kept his thoughts to himself, letting Steve keep thinking he was the one in charge.
The men in the back knew better.
"It's hard to see what they're doing from this far away," Steve said in a hushed tone. The men in the car almost didn't hear him over the sound of vehicles zooming by. "We need to get closer."
"If you get closer, you run the risk of them seeing us," Porter warned. "We don't have to know what they're doing. We just have to keep an eye on them."
Steve shook his head. "I don't like it. Our boss wants us to intercept them. Why are we sitting back here, watching? They're sitting there in the open. If we're going to take them, we need to do it now."
Porter didn't flinch. If he were a more sensitive person, he'd have felt sorry for Steve. The guy might honestly believe he was doing something like fighting domestic terrorism or something. There was no telling what their employer had told him. Not that it mattered, but Steve was a minor roadblock—a small branch across the road—easily moved out of the way with a little push.
"Give it a minute," Porter said.
He didn't have a reason. Truth was, he didn't need one. Steve was a beta male, and Porter knew it. He realized it the moment they shook hands and their eyes locked. There was a lack of confidence, a timidness that Porter picked up on. It was something he'd seen in other "coworkers." Usually, he had to cut the dead weight. That didn't always mean killing them. But in this case, it definitely did.
Porter reached into his jacket and eased the pistol out of its holster.
"Why would we wait?" Steve persisted. "The longer we sit here, the better chance they have of getting away."
He was right about that, although Porter had no intention of letting his quarry escape so easily. Before he made a move on Wyatt and Schultz, he had to get rid of his employer's errand boy. Then nothing would stand in Porter's way.
He found the sound suppressor in the gear bag at his feet and screwed it into place. Every squeak from the twisting metal sounded like a trumpet blaring, but Porter knew he was just being overly sensitive. Not that he needed to be. He had the feeling he could walk right up to Steve, show him the gun, tell him he was going to kill him with it, and still be able to pull it off.
Steve kept looking through his binoculars. Porter could tell he was getting antsy just from the man's body language.
"See what they're doing yet?" Porter asked, keeping the conversation going.
"No. I'm telling you, we're too far away. Only thing I can see is the car and silhouettes of the men inside."
Porter opened his door and stepped out. He left the door open so as not to startle Steve from his surveillance. With the weapon held loosely behind his back, Porter walked quietly over to the unaware man.
"I think you might be right," Porter said, putting his binoculars to his eyes with his right hand. "We really are too far away to see what they're doing."
Steve turned, now realizing Porter had gotten out of the car. "Yeah, I know," he said in an angry tone. "That's what I've been trying to tell you. If we go over there right now, we can box them in and take them down. I don't know if you realize it, but those two are extremely dangerous. The sooner we can get to them, the better."
Porter shifted closer to Steve, momentarily lowering his binoculars. When he was a few feet away, he craned his neck and nar
rowed his eyes as if he'd seen something of interest. He put his binoculars back to his face.
"Whoa," he said. "There it is."
"There what is?" Steve asked, hurriedly raising his binoculars to see what was going on.
Porter lowered his binoculars, raised the weapon in his left hand, and squeezed the trigger. A pink mist erupted from the other side of Steve's skull. His body stood still for a second before toppling over to the side and into the bushes.
The two men in the back of the car saw their cue and immediately got out. They calmly walked over to the body, grabbed the dead man by the ankles, and dragged him deeper into the bushes. They worked quickly, kicking leaves and piling branches over the body until it was almost invisible to the curious eye.
Someone would find him eventually, of course. That was a certainty. Porter's only concern was making sure that didn't happen in the next few hours.
Cars continued to hurry by: a road full of witnesses who didn't see a thing.
Porter returned to the front passenger seat while one of his men climbed into the front. Looking through the binoculars again, Porter watched as Wyatt's car backed out of the spot next to the river.
"They're on the move," he said to his driver. "Time to get going. Wait until they're on the main road before you pull out."
"Yes, sir," the driver said.
Porter kept his eyes on his quarry. The car steered out onto the highway and turned to the right.
"Hang back. I think I know where they're going."
"Where, sir?"
"What would you do if you were them and you'd just found the map to a massive treasure in Alaska?"
The driver thought for a second. "Get a flight to Alaska?"
"Bingo."
"But they'll be picked up by our people if they go near an airport."
"Not if they go to a small one. Security is much more lax at those."
"What's the plan then, sir?"
"Let them go to the airport. We take them down before they board. Then...we take their plane. You're a pilot, right?"
"Yes, sir."
"Well then. Looks like we just found our ride."
31
Washington
Emily tapped away at the tiny keyboard on her phone. She'd sent the president six text messages since leaving her Atlanta office. He hadn't responded to a single one.
She wasn't surprised. Only land lines worked down in the bunker. At least that's what she tried to tell herself. The problem with that theory was that phones worked on Wi-Fi as well. So, if there was a wireless internet connection in the president's protected quarters, he'd be able to see the texts.
Adriana drove their rental car down through the dark streets of the nation's capital. It was getting late. The chill of winter had driven most of the pedestrians indoors for the night. There were still cars driving about, but not nearly as many as during business hours.
"Any luck?" Adriana asked as she guided the car through an intersection and merged onto Pennsylvania Avenue.
"No," Emily said. "Nothing. I don't know if he's getting my messages that far underground. They should have the internet down there, but I'm not sure."
"Maybe he set his phone down somewhere to charge it."
"Yeah, it could be for a number of reasons," Emily said with a sigh.
She didn't like the fact that she couldn't get in touch with Dawkins. Over the years, they'd developed a strong relationship, mostly kept out of the public eye for discretionary reasons.
There was no denying Emily's feelings for the president. And she knew he felt the same about her. Those emotional attachments made the attempt on his life that much more difficult for Emily. The thought of losing him had become almost unbearable.
"John is a smart man," Adriana said, using the president's first name. "He may have already figured out who was behind everything."
"Maybe."
"He has every resource in the world at his disposal. I'm sure he has good people on it."
"Yeah. The only problem is that some of those resources may be out to kill him. Like Foster." She shook her head at the name. "I always thought there was something off about him."
"What do you mean?"
"I never really put a finger on it. He just seemed like a shady guy. I'm sure you know what I'm talking about when it comes to politicians. Most of them have a slimy feel to them."
Adriana agreed with a nod. "Yes, I think that is a universal issue, not just an American one."
Emily blew air through her lips, flapping them for a second. "Working for the president has been a real blessing. Most of the other agencies have to answer to committees, boards, other arms of government. We operate with a good amount of autonomy, only answering to the man himself."
"That's definitely got its advantages."
"Yes. It's nice to not have to worry about oversight committees and that sort of thing. They slow down so much of the work that needs to be done."
Adriana turned into the driveway leading up to the White House. After they'd gone through the checkpoints and parked their car, they made their way through another security check in an outbuilding next to the presidential mansion.
Emily led the way through the halls of the White House, showing off her credentials to every Secret Service agent she passed.
"Looks like they brought in a few extra people," Emily said after flashing her badge for the fifth time.
"Can you blame them?"
"No. That's standard protocol. I'm guessing some of these guys are working doubles to make sure they have enough people on hand."
Emily nodded as she turned down another long hall. "Yes. Normally that would be a problem, which is why they work in shifts. During an emergency, however, these agents are able to go longer, probably due to the increased adrenaline going through their veins. Somehow, they find a way to get it done.”
They reached the secret elevator, and Emily raised her credentials for the guy standing guard. He gave a curt nod and let them pass.
The two didn't say much on the elevator ride down until they neared the bottom. Then Adriana brought up a good question.
"What are we going to do if Foster is in here with the president?"
"I considered that might happen. If it does, we face him right there, tell Dawkins everything, and let him sort out how to handle it."
The doors opened, and they were greeted by the same sterile hallway from before. It almost felt like they'd never left.
Emily led the way down the first corridor and made a right at an intersection.
"Shouldn't we go that way?" Adriana asked, pointing to the left.
"No. That's where we were before. He'll be in the control room, more than likely."
"Control room?"
Emily didn't need to answer. The two rounded another turn and found themselves staring into a cavernous room with a giant map on the far wall and computer workstations covering three rows of counters.
"Wow," Adriana said.
"Yes, it's impressive, isn't it?"
"You could say that."
"In case of a nuclear attack, this bunker was constructed to oversee response operations."
"Response operations?"
Emily nodded. "Retaliation. Now, though, we don't have as many nuclear threats as we used to, so this room has been altered. The commander in chief can still monitor our nuclear arsenal from here, but modern times call for more clandestine approaches."
"Like when they took out that terrorist a few years ago in Pakistan."
"Correct. There's a similar bunker in Colorado, at NORAD. In fact, NORAD was built for this purpose, but then we got to thinking if the president couldn't get out of Washington in time, it would be good to have a home base of operations, right under his actual home."
"Good thinking," Adriana said, still staring in disbelief at all the lights, screens, and gizmos."
"We think so," a familiar man's voice said.
They turned to the right and saw Dawkins appear from one of the cont
rol room's side offices.
His face beamed with delight, especially at Emily.
"Mr. President," Emily said, "we have some disturbing information. Is the secretary of state here?"
Puzzled, Dawkins tilted his head to the side with eyebrows furrowed and forehead wrinkled. "No," he said. "Foster left hours ago. Said he had something pressing come up."
"You're sure he's out of the building?" Adriana asked.
The question only served to add to the president's confusion. "Yes, I'm quite sure. Why? What's this all about?"
Emily grabbed him by the wrist. "Come with me."
The surprised look on his face was mirrored by the Secret Service agent standing by the door. Before the young man could stop Emily, Dawkins waved him off, reassuring him that it was going to be okay.
Emily, Adriana, and the president stepped into a small office set into the back. Emily closed the door and looked around, sweeping the place with her eyes to make sure nothing out of the ordinary was sitting in the open.
"Looking for bugs?" Dawkins asked. "Because this room is clean. Anything said in here is only heard by those present."
"You're sure?" Emily asked.
Dawkins chuckled. "Yes, I'm sure. What's all this about? And why were you asking about Kent Foster?"
Adriana and Emily exchanged a sidelong glance.
"Go ahead," Adriana said with an outstretched palm.
"Okay," Emily said. "Sir, we have reason to believe that Kent Foster is the one behind the assassination attempt."
His eyebrows jerked in surprise. If the accusation hadn't been accompanied by such a serious face, he might have laughed.
"I'm sorry. Is this some kind of joke?" All he needed to see was Emily's stern face before he knew the answer. "Are you serious? Foster? Why? What possible motive could he have?"
"Sir," Adriana broke in, "we will fill you in on all the details later. Right now, we need to know where Foster is. Do you know where he went?"
The president looked baffled. "No. Not exactly. He said he had to attend a security briefing."
The Sean Wyatt Series Box Set 4 Page 76