3 Thank God it's Monday

by Robert Michael

  She stood with her feet planted apart and squatted as she pulled the trigger, the blast of the shotgun deafening. He watched her send the first three shells flying and then he pivoted into the room, turning to cover her left side as she poured more buckshot to the right.

  No one there. The room was empty. Just a hazy green in his goggles.

  “Well, that was fun,” Hallie quipped.

  The end of the barrel and the open bolt smoked and plastic shell casings rolled quietly on the tile floor.

  “They are here somewhere,” Jake said.

  Then they heard shouting outside the door.

  The burp of the MP7 sounded and Gary was ducking as bullets whined off of the plaster and lathe walls.

  “Help!” Gary said. “Security guards!”

  Jake waved him on.

  “This way! They aren’t here! Come on, we’ll hold them off.”

  Hallie threw down the shotgun and pulled her Five seveN.

  “Go with Gary to the other end of this hall. I think it turns. Yell if you need help.”

  Hallie grabbed Gary by the hand. He looked frightened. His glasses were askew on his face and were covered with debris from the wall.

  “And help him get a new mag in that MP7.”

  Jake ducked into the doorway of an adjacent room for cover. Just then, two security guards in full uniform appeared. They held their Python .38s at their waists as they came around the corner. Jake almost felt sorry for them. They looked as nervous as Gary.

  He allowed them to come nearer and he dropped his G36 to his side and pulled out a short wooden baton from a holster on his belt. He let them pass and then he stepped out silently and brought the baton down on the neck of the tall one. The man dropped as though his legs went out from under him. His partner did not notice.

  Jake pecked him on the shoulder. As he turned, Jake could see the horror in his eyes. The underpaid security guard knew it was over even before Jake brought the heel of his palm under the man’s chin, snapping his head back around with an audible click. He collided with the wall and then fell heavily onto the tile of the hall. Jake reached down and checked his pulse. He was out, but alive.

  He heard the other guard groan.

  He had bought them some time.

  Then the alarms sounded and red lights flashed from above doors and exit signs.

  He let out a curse.

  “Jake!? What’s happening?”

  “They know we are here, dear. Don’t worry. We will find him.”

  He ran and caught up to them. The hall here was not as dark and so he took off his goggles.

  “Where to now?”

  “Down here. They have to have a firing range or something. Maybe they are there,” he surmised.

  She and Gary followed him as he took two steps at a time, the claxon sound of the alarm gritting his nerves.

  They exited into a large room full of glass partitions. He saw two men across the room. One was holding what looked like a length of pipe with a handle. The other had a lab coat. George and Clarence, Jake thought.

  “Hallie!” Jake warned. He saw the man with the pipe raise the barrel and point it in their direction.

  The glass in front of him exploded and something hit him in the shoulder hard enough to turn him around.

  “Jake!” Hallie yelled.

  As he rolled to the floor, he saw Gary duck behind a desk. Hallie collapsed next to him, her eyes worried.

  “Got me in the shoulder,” he said through gritted teeth. It felt like something hot had cut him. He looked at the wound. It poured blood, but his shirt was ripped and the wound looked like an ugly gash. Oddly it appeared like a knife wound.

  “What was that?”

  He shook his head. He did not know or care. The man holding that weapon would be dead soon. He felt it in his bones.

  “No matter. We came to do a job. Let’s do it. Get to cover over there. That thing can shoot through a wall, I think.” He pointed to a heavy metal desk.

  “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.”

  Chapter 14

  Strong & Courageous

  Andronikus 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.

  ∞

  Gabriel 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.”