by Bobby Nash
Once they got through security, Corwin was on the phone, calling their boss, Deputy Director James McHenry again. McHenry was scheduled to meet with the President and the cabinet for an update on the Blood Shot case. With the President’s connection to the old project studying the weaponization of brain washing, and the subsequent killings of others involved, McHenry had increased security around POTUS, the White House, and the President’s residence. No one in or out. Until the threat was ended, President Montgomery was basically on lock down and the man did not like it at all.
“No answer,” Corwin said as he dropped the phone to his side at the elevator. He pressed the button. Straight to voice mail.
This was the fifth call to the deputy director’s phone that had gone straight to voicemail. It was possible that he was in the middle of his meeting with the President and simply did not wish to be interrupted, but that seemed unlikely as McHenry was actively waiting on intel from Corwin and his team that he could pass along to eh President and his advisors.
“Something’s not right,” Corwin said.
As much as she hated to admit it, she agreed with him.
“Do we know who else is on watch tonight?” Patterson asked.
Having been banished to the Secret Service equivalent to Siberia, she was out of the loop. There were so many new faces that’s he had not yet gotten to know. Also, there was still a stigma surrounding her, in spite of the reinstatement, that kept many of the unsullied newbies at bay. Her reputation preceded her, and she knew it was well-earned, after all, she had imploded her own career and managed to take down dome fellow agents along with her. It would prove difficult to rebuild some of that trust with new agents who knew her by reputation alone.
“I’ll see who I can find. You keep going,” Corwin said and started making calls.
Agent Patterson picked up speed and moved ahead. She wanted to run, but decorum was still important. She hoped Corwin could get through to someone on the watch quickly. Thankfully, her time away had done nothing to dull her memory of the corridors of this building. She knew the White House hallways and byways backward and forward. A few things had changed in the years since she was last there, including a new President sitting in the Oval Office, but by and large, the White House itself changed very little.
She turned onto the hallway that led to the Oval and flashed her credentials to the Secret Service agents she passed. Each one nodded after seeing her ID and let her pass without incident.
Just outside of the Oval Office, the President’s executive assistant sat. She smiled at Agent Patterson.
“Can I help you, Agent…” She looked at the ID. “…Patterson?”
“I need to speak with Deputy Director McHenry immediately.”
“I’m afraid he’s in with the President at the moment.”
“This is urgent, time-sensitive data that he needs.”
“Just one moment,” the assistant said.
Patterson was in no mood to wait. She pointed at one of the agents near the entrance to the Oval Office. He stood guard along with a Marine MP.
“Get McHenry,” Patterson told the agent. “Now!”
The agent moved and the guard flinched, his hand moving to the weapon holstered on his hip.
“Now, agent,” Patterson repeated.
“Perhaps you should page them,” the agent said to the assistant.
“There’s no time,” Patterson said, taking a step forward.
The Marine drew his sidearm.
Before things got even more out of hand, the door to the Oval Office opened from inside and the Secretary of Defense opened the door.
“What is going on out here?” Matthew Conrad asked.
“Agent Patterson is here to speak with Deputy Director McHenry,” the assistant said before Agent Patterson could.
“It’s extremely urgent,” Patterson added.
“Please, come inside,” Conrad said and stepped aside so the agent could pass by unobstructed.
She nodded to the agent and Marine guard as she passed. Inside, the Oval Office was much like she remembered from her one and only time inside. The drapes were a different color and there was a different man sitting behind the president’s desk, but everything else remained more or less unchanged.
The last time she had stood in this room, she had gotten an ass-chewing from the then-sitting POTUS, a man she admired, and Deputy Director McHenry, a man she did not. The meeting had not gone well. Secret Service Agents were dead, a Russian diplomat was dead, and additional attacks were imminent, though the final targets remained unknown
Her career was all but washed up, but there was still a small chance she could redeem herself. That brie glimmer of resuscitating her career was all that kept her from punching the arrogant McHenry in the mouth.
That would have ended her career quickly and with permanence.
She would never have been able to claw her way back in otherwise.
“Apologies for the intrusion, Mr. President, everyone,” Patterson said. “I’m afraid this couldn’t wait.”
“That’s okay, Agent…” President Montgomery started.
“Patterson, sir. Samantha Patterson.”
“Welcome to the White House, Agent Patterson.” He motioned in the direction of her boss and, with a nod, she headed in his direction.
“Let’s take a short break, everyone,” she heard the President say as the deputy director shot her a stern look.
“Agent,” was all he said.
“I’m sorry to interrupt like this, sir, but Agent Corwin was unable to reach you or anyone on duty by phone.” She noticed that he was sweating, his eyes bloodshot. “Are you okay, sir?”
“I’m fine,” he said through grit teeth. “Migraine. I’ve been having them for years. I can push through it. They usually don’t hurt this bad. I just need to let the medication I took kick in.”
“Are you sure? I can call the medics?”
He shook his head.
“I am. I appreciate your concern, Agent Patterson. I’ll be all right. Do you have an update?”
“Yes, sir. We have in custody the man we believe refers to himself as The Controller.”
“Who is it?”
“One of the scientists who worked on the original project, a doctor named Gulley.”
“Greg Gulley?” the President asked.
Patterson spun around to get a good look. For a man his age, the President moved like a cat. She hadn’t even heard him get close enough to listen in on their conversation.
“Forgive my eavesdropping, Agent Patterson. Sometimes, ‘accidentally’ overhearing conversations is the only way I learn anything around here.” Montgomery chucked a thumb toward the staff on the other end of the room, the ones pretending not to focus on their conversation.
“They mean well, but everyone on my staff, hell, even your boss there, they act like it’s their job to shield me from the truth. I’m supposed to be in the most powerful position in the world, but they way they act, you would think I was some doddering old fool they need to protect from the evils of the world.”
He smiled and she couldn’t help but return it with one of her own. Outside of a recent briefing, she knew very little about President William James Montgomery outside of what little she saw on TV, which, depending on what channel you watched meant he was either the greatest commander in chief the United States had ever had or he was the anti-Christ come to destroy them all. But now, face to face with the man, he kind of reminded her of her grandfather. They both spoke in a down to earth style that made her feel comfortable, a good trait for a man in a position to start or stop wars.
“Last time I read my job description, it was my job to protect the people of this great nation,” he said. “How’s that sound to you?”
“Sounds about right to me, sir.”
“Good. In that case, Agent Patterson, why don’t you brief both me and Deputy Director McHenry at the same time.”
“I can do that, sir. As I was saying, we h
ave an individual in custody who we believe is responsible not only for continuing the Project code named Blood Shot, but it’s our firm belief that he is also responsible for the murders of several people who were attached to the project as well.”
“You said his name was Greg Gulley?”
“Yes, sir. Dr. Gulley is our prime suspect. He has confessed to continuing the project, but has been tight-lipped concerning the killings.”
“Any idea why?” Montgomery asked.
“He’s under the impression that, once you see that he has successfully weaponized the project, you’ll pardon him and put him on the payroll.”
“Not in this lifetime,” the President said. “I was against this project twenty-five years ago and I am firmly against it today. Lock his ass up.”
“I wish it were that easy, Mr. President,” McHenry said, his voice pained.
“He’s right,” Patterson said. “This guy has had contingencies in place, he’s been smart up to now. I see no reason for him to start making stupid mistakes now. We would be foolish to underestimate him now.”
“Without my pardon, what option does he have?”
Patterson gave him a crooked grin.
The President nodded.
“I knew it was a naive thing to say the moment I said it. There are any number of covert divisions who would love to scoop up a project that can successfully do what this one does. And that’s just within our government. Imagine if one of our enemies got hold of this technology.”
“There’s also another option to consider,” Robert Corwin said as he entered.
“Oh,” Montgomery said.
“This is Agent Corwin,” Patterson said. “He’s right. We believe that The Controller has used his Blood Shot technology on a Secret Service Agent.”
“For what purpose?” Montgomery asked, though Patterson suspected he had already put two and two together.
“If a member of your protection detail were to kill you then commit suicide, sir, your administration would be thrown into chaos. That would give any number of those agencies you mentioned a chance to abscond with Dr. Gulley and is research. Who knows, perhaps once sworn in, your Vice President would be more amenable to their requests.”
The President’s eyes moved around the room. A moment ago, he had been in the most secure room he could think of, but now, suddenly, he was surrounded by potential assassins. He wasn’t sure who to trust anymore.
“What do you suggest we do, Agent Patterson?”
“First of all, I think we should get you somewhere a bit more secure.” She looked to Corwin. “Can we bring in replacements for the agents on duty?”
“Already in process,” Corwin said. “I also have medics prepping to do bloodwork on each agent. We found minute traces of certain chemicals in the suicides we believe The Controller turned. If those elements are present in anyone, that could mean they’ve been infected.”
“Are you certain this test will work?” Matthew Conrad asked.
They all looked at him.
“He’s not the only one that knows how to eavesdrop around here,” the Secretary of Defense said, cocking a head toward his commander in chief.
“Not at all,” Corwin said. “At this point, it’s a theory.”
“An untested one at that,” McHenry added.
“They’re right, Mr. President,” Patterson said. “Right now, it’s all guess work unless we can break Gulley.”
“Or you give him that pardon,” Corwin added.
“That’ll be a cold day in hell,” President Montgomery said.
“Wrong answer,” McHenry said.
“Sir?” Patterson asked, turning back to face him.
The Deputy Director’s sidearm was suddenly in his hand and pointed at them.
“What are you doing?” Corwin shouted.
Someone yelled his name, but to James McHenry, it sounded like it was being shouted through a haze. The jackhammering pain continued to pound the inside of his skull until he thought it would explode.
Instinctively, Agents Corwin and Patterson moved to insert themselves between the gun and the target before it was too late.
And then a voice, a small, tiny sound, broke through the noise.
The voice told him how to make the pain stop.
McHenry pulled the trigger.
Thirty-three
Washington DC
Sunday
Chaos reigned.
Agent Robert Corwin shouted in pain as his body jerked against the impact of the bullet against the Kevlar vest he wore beneath his white button up shirt. The second bullet missed the vest and punctured him from the side, splattering blood in all directions.
He fell against Agent Samantha Patterson, knocking her off balance before she could grab the gun out of the hand of Deputy Director James McHenry, hers and Corwin’s boss at the Secret Service.
Corwin landed hard on the dark blue carpet that covered the floor of the Oval Office.
Elsewhere in the office, people screamed and moved for cover. The two Secret Service Agents on duty outside the door burst in as soon as they heard the scuffle. They pushed past the others to reach their protectee, William James Montgomery, the President of the United States.
McHenry leveled the gun to fire again. This time there was no one between him and his target.
Agent Patterson made her move, letting Corwin fall to the floor, she threw herself into McHenry.
The deputy director pulled the trigger and the gun barked once, twice, three times.
Each shot echoed loudly, but all missed their target thanks to Patterson’s quick thinking and the agents near the President tackling the older man to the floor behind his large desk. Had McHenry been in his right mind, and not under the influence of The Controller’s Blood Shot cocktail, he would have applauded their efforts.
Patterson didn’t give him time to fire again. A firm gouge to the wrist and the director’s gun dropped from his useless hand, even though he was still unconsciously trying to pull the trigger. McHenry was sweating profusely, his face a mask of rage and terror. He had failed to fulfill the mission he had been given. Based on the evidence they had collected on The Controller’s other victims, if McHenry followed the established pattern, he would be looking for the easiest way to harm himself.
Agent Patterson had no inclination to let her boss commit suicide in the Oval Office. Not on her watch.
“Get him out of here!” she ordered the agents covering the President.
McHenry couldn’t kill his target if he was evacuated. His mission had failed and he unleashed an anguished scream eerily reminiscent of nails on a chalk board. She wanted to cover her ears, but she couldn’t let down her guard.
The deputy director spun to face her, snarling, hands curled into quivering claws.
Uh oh, she thought.
McHenry leapt at her, grabbing Agent Patterson by the neck and choking her.
Off balance, she tripped and fell backward, his weight bearing down on her as they fell onto the President’s desk. The telephone hit the floor, papers flying in all directions, and the glass of water the leader of the free world had been drinking moments ago, splashed into the leather desk chair.
McHenry easily had fifty pounds on Patterson and, even worse for her, he had leverage as well. The deputy director was known in the Service as a hard boss, a taskmaster who expected nothing less than absolute perfection from those under his command. That attitude lent itself to certain personality traits that often put Agent McHenry at odds with others. At one point, Agent Patterson had been on the other end of his ire and it had all but cost her career. Not only was he a bulldog of a man in attitude and personality, but he was also physically every bit the scrapper he acted.
Now, fueled by rage and intensity, but none of the restraint that the man eschewed in his professional persona, his strength felt unequaled.
Especially to the young woman who found herself with the man’s massive hands clamped around her throat.
; Around her, the edges of her periphery darkened
Her back hit the hardwood desk with such ferocity that she felt a crack of pain shoot up her spine and into her fingers. The excruciating sensation fueled her, adrenaline surging until it pushed away the graying edges of consciousness.
Training kicked in and shoved away the panic.
Weaponless, Agent Patterson kicked out wildly, not aiming for any particular body part, but hoping to do anything to make him loosen his grip before she ran out of oxygen.
She kicked again, felt an impact, heard him grunt.
McHenry squeezed harder.
She heard shouts, angry voices raised. She couldn’t quite make out the words, but that didn’t matter. All that counted was that they distracted her opponent.
McHenry turned to face the noise.
That was all the distraction she needed.
Agent Patterson pulled her legs in close then pushed with all her might, catching her boss in the mid-section and pushing him off of her.
His grip released and she rolled off of the desk, panting and gasping for air.
The room was spinning, but there was no time to rest. That would come later.
She searched the room, her eyes trying to focus on her dropped weapon.
There! She saw her gun lying next to Robert Corwin’s body. He was still alive, moving and moaning in paid, bleeding badly, but alive. She focused on that.
And the gun.
Patterson leapt for the gun, scooped it up in her hand and rolled so that she landed with her back against Corwin’s body. She hated to use an injured agent to brace against, but there was no other choice.
“McHenry!” she shouted.
The deputy director turned back toward her.
Agent Patterson squeezed the trigger.